


Her Starlit Path

by skatersav



Series: Playing with Fire [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fanfiction, Love, Love Triangles, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatersav/pseuds/skatersav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SEQUEL to "Playing with Fire", a Legolas and Tauriel fan fiction.</p><p>Legolas and Eyela are betrothed. Something dark approaches. Its threat grows stronger every day.</p><p>The dwarves head for the mountain, closely followed by Tauriel. Legolas is torn between following his friend, and leaving Eyela behind. Through their differences, Legolas and Tauriel find themselves thrown on a winding adventure, a seemingly endless chase. But war is coming, and none of them are as safe as they think. Death looms over them like a shadow, haunting their every step. Will Legolas's love for Tauriel pass into the stars?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and 1: Grief and Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to the world of Legolas and Tauriel! I truly hope you enjoy this sequel :)
> 
> Updates will be every Saturday!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Included is a super short prologue to the action, and Chapter 1. Enjoy!! :)

**Prologue**

 

Legolas pulled away from his bride-to-be, his lips still tingling from their prolonged kiss. Eyela’s eyes were still closed, her lashes fluttering against her porcelain complexion. When she opened them, her dark azure gaze took his breath away.

 _I love her,_ he told himself firmly. He planted a gentle kiss on her temple before detangling his fingers from her chocolate hair.

Something flashed out of the corner of his eye, but he caught it. How could he not catch the unmistakable blaze of auburn hair? How could he not hear her, crying as she ran?

Something within him snapped at the sound and sight. In an attempt to straighten his tilting world, he slipped his hand into Eyela’s cool one, twining his fingers around hers. They offered an infinitesimal comfort to him, to his slowly shattering heart.

He had never wanted this to happen. So when he looked at Eyela—in the morning light that was bathing her in an otherworldly glow—tears steadily filled his icy eyes. All around him, there was thunderous applause. Happiness was in the air, and yet, he could not feel it.

A hand on his shoulder had him turning. Thranduil was wearing impossibly ornate robes, the crown on his head catching and reflecting every beam of sunlight. His expression, however, was not so posh.

“Legolas?” The way in which he said it reminded the prince all too much of his faraway childhood, when his father would kiss him goodnight, when he would tuck him in and soothe away his nightmares. No such sentiments could help him now.

Nevertheless, Legolas offered his father a weak smile, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Thranduil gave him a small nod, in twisted approval, before striding back to his throne. He leaned forward to give Queen Anona a kiss on the cheek.

Legolas watched them for a moment. Was this how he and Eyela would be, one day? Exchanging loving glances, kisses in the morning and night, raising two prosperous children?

His hand tightened on Eyela’s. These thoughts were the ones he cherished. They were the ones he went back to when the darkness of losing his first love came over him.

So they crossed, as a couple, towards the crowd, smiling and laughing. He looked at her in the eyes and saw his wife. He saw her as the elleth he needed to love. He saw her as the beauty she was, the fair, kind maiden she had become.

 

* * *

 

In the dungeons, something big was stirring. And escape.

Bofur leaned against the cold wall of his prison. His hopeless brown gaze traveled up, past the wall, up into the towering ceilings of the Woodland Realm. _No one leaves here but by the King’s consent._

He sighed. “Must be nearly dawn.”

Across the prison, Nori’s higher voice rang out. “We’re never going to reach the mountain, are we?”

“Not stuck in here, you’re not.”

The voice they had all been hoping for was the next to sound. Even Thorin ran and slammed his hands into the jade bars that restrained him.

“BILBO?”

It was more of an incredulous question than anything else. And a prayer, all in one word, in one name.

They were going to get out of here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Chapter 1**

 

_No._

Tauriel fled the Royal Hall, her well-worn hunting boots slapping against the mosaic tiles. She chose to ignore the deafening cheers behind her back, and ran into the forest; somewhere she knew she’d be safe.

All her life, she had fled to the green, to the blanket of trees where she could hide away, away from the cruel world and its people. Away from the ellon she loved, who would never want or need her as much as she did him.

It only took a few moments for her, before the tears were too much and she fell to her knees, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Hugging her knees to her chest, she curled into a ball, her cheek pressed against the cool earth. She tasted her tears; they ran into her nose and her mouth, filling her chest with sorrow.

Time passed. Tauriel lost track of how long she lay there, awake but asleep, trembling with an indescribable pain. Eventually, the sobs reduced to whimpers, until only her chest was shaking in the awning of the great leaves.

It was in that moment that she knew. Maybe she was just accepting what she had been denying herself all those years. “I love him.”

It was a breath, a mere whisper, quickly carried away by the morning wind. She rolled onto her back, hazel eyes shining in the weak bars of sunlight that were seeping through the branches.

“I _loved_ him.”

It was stronger this time, a promise, thudding into her broken heart. Into the very heart that she had spent too many years trying to save.

But it had shattered, anyway. It had been destroyed the moment she had seen Legolas with Eyela. It had torn somewhat of a hole in her soul, the part that had been dedicated to the crown prince, to her best friend.

The wound was raw now, raw and red and exposed, with very little hope left in it. Very little hope left in healing. But she knew she would, with time. She needed to be strong.

With that thought, she was able to stand. She brushed the grass and leaves away from her dress and swallowed the remaining tears with a scowl. Her longbow lay in the dirt.

She picked it up now, running her fingers along it, savoring the feeling of the carvings and lines. Legolas had gotten her the bow, when she had joined the guard. It had been his way of congratulating her, for being so young and earning the position. She had cherished it forever.

She still cherished it. She still loved him. There was no doubt that this love, this devotion would never end, and she accepted it. She let her heart embrace the concept, and the tears seemed to disappear off of her pale face.

“Tauriel? Captain Tauriel?”

She heard the call, and reacted instantly. The smile disappeared, replaced by a firm line; her back straightened with authority.

 _I must appear to have been going for a walk._ Although no one would miss the betrothal of the crown prince. Perhaps they would believe her, nevertheless.

“Yes?” She was proud of her voice; it came noble and strong.

What they said made her blood run cold. “The dwarves have escaped.”

 

* * *

 

 

Everything hurt, on Legolas Thraduillion’s betrothal day.

He should have felt happy, or jovial even, but instead, his heart felt as though it had been turned to stone. His smile was numb and hollow as he accepted the many congratulations said to him, and his hand remained on Eyela’s.

It was his duty, and he was prepared to fulfill it.

However, he could not delete or dispose of the image in his mind: Tauriel running away from the chamber he and Eyela had been in half an hour before; her auburn hair disappearing in the writhing cloud of Wood Elves.

Just thinking about it caused his heart to pang. He felt as though a thousand knives had been stabbed into his chest. Nothing could ever describe the pain he felt, upon seeing the very elleth he loved in that condition.

He wanted to be betrothed to _her_ , he wanted to kiss _her_ , he wanted the hand in his to be callused and hard instead of soft and delicate. Just for a moment, the façade fell, and his smile faltered the tiniest bit.

“Legolas?” The gentle voice he thought he would never hear again startled him from his reverie.

“Mother.”

Anona looked anything but congratulatory. Legolas had rather hoped she would; he had hoped his show would have been convincing enough to fool his mother.

Her frown deepened when their eyes met, and his thought that she could still read him, even after centuries in the infirmary, were confirmed. He bit his lips and looked away, to spare him the questioning. He did not want to discuss Tauriel in front of Eyela.

Just then, he remembered her, his bride-to-be as of one year, his betrothed. His eyes were drawn to the ring on his right index finger, the silver studded with moonstones that he had picked out just seven days earlier.

He looked at her instead of at Anona, trying to burn the image of the one he was supposed to love into his brain. He would need to remember it, in times of confusion. He squeezed her hand to draw her attention.

She gazed at him with nothing but pure love in her eyes, and he felt another knife in his interior twist.

“Yes?” Her voice had a sweet lilt to it, and her azure eyes were reflected in her pure silver circlet.

“Nothing,” he stammered. “You…you are beautiful. I begin to wonder if I’ve stepped into a dream.”

It wasn’t a lie. Eyela was considered, next to Arwen, the most fair and lovely elleth in all of Rivendell. Her porcelain skin seemed even more flawless up close. She truly was stunning, a complete angel in the eyes of all who knew the Lady of Rivendell.

He was a fool not to love her.

Her face lit up at the compliment, causing her to appear even grander still. He thought her bright smile might blind him, one of these days.

“You’re so sweet. I knew you had a soft side.”

Is that what she took out of that? He almost grimaced at the thought of having a soft side, for anyone other than his parents, but the thought of Tauriel came into his head and he fell silent.

 

[Flashback]

 

“Tauriel! Wait!”

She laughed. Even if they had been running for days, she wouldn’t have gotten tired. She ran at a constant, blinding speed like a gazelle, hopping over every branch, every pile of leaves. The beams of sunlight turned her hair to flames.

“Catch me if you can!” She giggled.

His breath was coming in ragged puffs. Thighs burning, he chased after her, not noticing the twisted branch he was rapidly approaching. His attention was fixed on her smile, radiant as the evening sun—

“Ah!” He stumbled, yelped, and fell into a pile on the forest floor.

Tauriel faltered for a moment, her smile dimming. “Legolas?”

“This is embarrassing,” he muttered, hauling himself to his feet. “No one would believe you beat me in a race.”

“And everything else,” she smirked.

He stuck out his lower lip in mock hurt. “Not _everything._ ”

She ran forward, and launched herself onto him. He yelled as the sudden weight hit him and rolled into a pile of leaves, kicking. They thrashed, Tauriel’s hands swatting at his face, Legolas’s laughs echoing through the silent forest. Legolas landed a kick to her stomach, and Tauriel’s fist went into his eye in return. It ended with her knees deep in the dirt, straddling his small fame. They were both completely breathless.

“Everything,” she confirmed with a nod, panting.

Lying there, he was very surprised by something he had never considered important before. She was _beautiful_.

The light caught in her auburn hair, in her smile, making her pale face glow. She looked like a treasure, right there and then. And he knew she was: his best friend, his companion, his treasure.

“What are you staring at?” She asked suspiciously at his playful grin, clambering off of him.

“You,” he smiled.

“What?”

He felt a confidence he had never felt before. “You are beautiful, Tauriel.”

She rolled her eyes and smacked him on the shoulder. “For the crown prince, you’re surprisingly soft.”

He recoiled. “I am _not_!”

They began to walk back to the castle. He flicked his eyes to her, and admired the warrior in her. Most of the Woodland Guard was male, but Tauriel…was different. Not only was she the captain at such a young age, but she was also an elleth. And she brought authority to the Guard in a way that no other captain before her had.

She was free, she had a streak of rebelliousness that he could not even dream of possessing, and she was one of the finest warriors they had ever seen. She was different, she chose to challenge herself and her gifts, she was liberated and grounded in a way that he was not, and it was unduly attractive to him.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, and for a moment he thought she hadn’t heard.

But washed in the light of the setting sun, he could’ve sworn he saw her blush.

 

[End Flashback]

 

“Legolas!” the call snapped him out of his daydream. The memory did not hurt him, surprisingly. It had instead put a genuine grin of affection on his face.

Though not for Eyela. When he realized this, he immediately reverted back to stone, looking to answer the call.

It had come from the end of the hall. Freeing himself from his bride-to-be at last, he found Dalyor waiting for him, leaning against one of the great pillars. If Thranduil saw him, he’d have his head. The thought put another rare smile on Legolas’s face.

“You called?”

Dalyor looked at him in what might have been awe. “You mean you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The dwarves have escaped!”

 _What?_ Legolas felt something akin to fire running through his veins. The image of the brown-haired dwarf, the one Tauriel had taken a liking to, came into his mind.

He attempted to calm himself. “How long?”

Dalyor’s tone changed immediately. He must have seen the look on the crown prince’s face. “No more than five minutes. We’ll catch them.”

“Where’s the Guard?” Legolas was already moving, purposefully striding towards the staircases.

His friend jogged to catch up. “Captain Tauriel has already taken them after the prisoners. That’s why I said it wouldn’t take long. If there’s any elf who can catch a company of dwarves, it’s our Tauriel.”

Another stab wound in Legolas’s heart, which was already bleeding from far too many wounds today. “Of course,” he said weakly.

He reached the staircases and turned to his friend. “Go with the Guard. I won’t be long.”

Pushing all thoughts of Tauriel out of his mind, he ascended the staircase and shed his embroidered tunic.

 _Escaping, dwarves?_ He chuckled to himself. _I don’t think so._

* * *

 

Tauriel had prepped the guard in mere seconds. Snapping orders to all of them, she sent them into the river and beyond.

“Search the grounds!” She snarled. “And don’t return until you find them.”

They ran towards the water, following the ridiculous barrels the dwarves had decided to travel in. She could only wonder how in the name of Eru they escaped from King Thranduil’s dungeons. She had known no creature that could break through the cells of The Woodland Realm. No one left but by the king’s consent.

She was about to spring forward when she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Dalyor?”

“What about Legolas?”

She had not been ready for that question. Not now, not ever. Her entire body stiffened. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the barrels and the thought brought her back to reality.

She turned back to the servant, her face void of any expression. “We’re not waiting for him.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you excited? Thank you so much for reading, and be sure to let me know your thoughts on this chapter, and chapters to come! :)
> 
>  
> 
> xoxo skatersav


	2. 2: Down the River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Hope your enjoying the sequel so far. This chapter continues the battle :)

**Chapter 2**

 

Legolas shed his silver tunic easily, slipping into his patrolling greens before snatching his longbow off of the table and his double blades. With that, he slipped into soft leather boots and stole out of the gate.

It wasn’t long before he saw the barrels, bobbing slowly as they made their way towards the river gate. He was not about to let that happen.

“Shut the gate!” He shouted to a younger ellon, who took out a small horn and blew into it.

The signal was given, and the gate on the far side of the river was quickly attended to. Legolas watched with amusement as the dwarves groaned and moaned at the sight of the rapidly closing silver bars.

He started forward. Despite being startled by the attack, his limbs felt quick and agile as usual. Their capture would be clean and precise—

An arrow he didn’t recognize came out of nowhere just then, burying itself into one of the guard’s neck, where Elven armor was weakest. Legolas’s eyes widened and his pace slowed. Leaping over the gates his father and the Guard had protected for centuries…came Orcs.

Never had he seen so many in one place, and never had they ventured into Mirkwood. And they had just _killed_ three of his kin, in thirty seconds. His heart thudded against his chest, making breathing difficult. What was going on?

“Watch out!”

“There’s Orcs!”

The nettlesome bellows of the dwarves brought the prince back to reality. He shook his head and charged forward, drawing his bow in one swift movement.

“Come with me!” He ordered the group of soldiers waiting by the bridge. The more assistance he could receive the better.

Where was Tauriel? The thought set his chest aflame, and almost interfered with the instinctual movements of his bow. He sharply drew in a breath and pushed the thought away. _Not now._

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but look for her. Then he caught it; the flash of auburn hair among the trees. She was rapidly making her way towards the Orcs and dwarves, the expression on her face consisting of nothing but pure concentration and the heavy burden of responsibility. He felt a sudden rush of affection.

His thoughts reverted back to the Orcs, who were now swarming the river. Their targets were clearly the dwarves; Legolas cursed himself for bringing so much trouble to his kingdom. There were at least thirty of them, bulky and carrying axes. Their apparent leader, the biggest of them all, was easily spotted among the fair faces of the elves.

The leader brought his axe down, on Arphenion, one of the newest members of the Woodland Guard. The sound of his skull snapping could be heard from across the water.

Fires of rage replaced the bile in Legolas’s throat. He snarled and maneuvered around a patch of brush. In his peripheral vision, he saw Tauriel crouching at the fallen warrior’s body, touching his forehead.

The grief on her face was only momentary, before the same rage Legolas felt burning inside of him bloomed onto her face like a dark flower. Her hazel eyes seared with hatred.

Before he could move towards her, however, Legolas’s attention was captured by something else. The dwarf—the one Tauriel liked—was clambering onto the lookout.

By this time, the remaining Elven Guards were thoroughly occupied. The dwarf was quick to receive weapons from his on looking company, and was even quicker to make prey of every Orc that came his way. Legolas couldn’t help but be slightly impressed.

“Kili!” The dwarves were shouting. “Kili! Kili!”

_So the thing has a name._

An Orc was unexpectedly in his face; blocking his view of the brown-haired, taller dwarf they called Kili. Kegolas recoiled for a mere second in surprise before a savage grin took over. Too close to use arrows on, the Orc made a clumsy swing with his axe, and Legolas ducked immediately.

While doing so, he reached up and grabbed his favorite weapon for closer combat: hunting knives. They were his best blades, studded with rubies and emeralds, forged by the best of his kin. His smile faded when he notice the dwarf heading towards a different target.

Tauriel was unaware, locked in combat with a particularly stubborn Orc. Her teeth were gritted in frustration, her dagger stuck in the creature’s armor.

Legolas’s enemy had stuck up behind her, and had poised his axe directly above her head. With a blow like that, she would die instantly. Legolas felt as though he had been doused in cold water. And still, the auburn-haired captain carried on. She had no idea.

Legolas moved faster than he thought was possible, his bow coming out of nowhere, the arrow automatically in his hand. He fired one quick shot, and the arrow and axe seemed to move in slow motion.

His hit first, and Orc fell with a grunt. Tauriel continued to fight, unaware of close mortality had been, and Legolas turned away from her, relief filling his chest. She was all right.

 

* * *

 

 

Tauriel yanked her knife out of another Orc in disgust. She was only halfway to the river and there were still more Orcs, pouring over the wall.

Her thoughts strayed to Arphenion. He had been so young, younger than her and a talented warrior. She bit her lip as the sharp pain of grief flooded her heart again. She could get the image of his dead body out of her mind, of him just lying there…

“Tauriel!”

The call snapped her out of it, and she turned to see Dalyor sprinting past her. He threw her a new quiver, full of more arrows still. She caught it fast, giving him a grateful look.

“Keep Legolas out of trouble!” He called as she slung the quiver across her shoulders.

Before she could respond, both mentally and verbally, the river went completely silent. Not a sound was heard. Then—

“KILI!”

Then a groan of pain, a horrible sound from the dwarf she had befriended. He fell to the cold stone, his face a mask of pure agony.

She felt a tremor in her heart for him, for the dwarf who she had a place for in her heart, for bringing her out of her sorrow. She watched him fall in absolute horror.

The leader of the Orcs was making his way over to him, and by the smirk on his face, Tauriel could see that he had been the one to shoot the black-feathered arrow that now was buried into Kili’s leg.

She was not about to let another die. Not while she was alive.

Her arrow found its mark, and the Orc heading towards him stumbled before falling and dying. He turned to look at her, his wet brown hair hanging in his face. She shot another Orc before it could reach him. He would not be dying tonight.

She then occupied herself with the fresh wave of Orcs approaching her, sent by the angry leader. Before one could make its way towards her, a silver arrow went through its skull.

Legolas emerged from the bushes, his expression emotionless as he defended her from the oncoming creatures. Or perhaps he was just slaying them because it was his duty. With him were twenty members of the Guard.

She had little time to think of such things. She moved with elegance and deadly efficiency, taking comfort in their renewed numbers. Within seconds, she had made her way to the wall.

She could see Legolas fighting out of the corner of her eye; they were nearly side-by-side. Together, as they had always been, they were unstoppable.

 

* * *

 

 

She had saved the life of a dwarf.

Legolas killed blindly, more interested in what Kili was doing with his extended life span than what the vermin he was fighting was. But he was engrossed in combat anyway, whether he cared for it or not.

So engrossed, in fact, that his back was turned when the dwarf named Kili decided to pull the lever on the bridge, opening the gate and thus freeing his kin and sending them down the river at last.

When he saw this, Legolas exhaled deeply through his nose, his knife automatically going through the Orc trying to sneak up on him. He gritted his teeth and started forward.

He then heard the leader of the Orcs. “After them!”

The Orcs reversed directions, climbing back over the wall and heading towards the rapidly fleeing dwarves.

As they did this, the crown prince got a better look at the sheer size of the army they had been facing. Legolas gulped, despite himself. Orcs in such numbers…what were they doing massed together in such a way?

Then Tauriel’s bark sounded. “Go!”

The Woodland Guard reacted instantly, taking to the branches that surrounded the river. They moved in the trees with grace and precision. They would not be beaten here.

Mirkwood was Legolas’s home. He planned to remind the Orcs of this.

He saw Tauriel just then, standing at the top of the wall. Her hand rested on her longbow, and her head was turned towards him. Her eyes were fixed on his, as though the hazel of the woods they lived was meeting icy snow.

She turned away, her auburn hair flashing in the morning light. He took a moment to admire her before leaping after the Guard. And still, in his mind, he could only picture Tauriel saving the dwarf’s life.

But more importantly, the look on her face when she did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Any sad feelings? Thoughts in general? Let me know, I'd love to hear them :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and for those of you who have commented and left Kudos! Posts will be every Saturday, so stay tuned for Chapter 2! :)
> 
> xoxo skatersav


	3. 3: Escaping the Elves

**Chapter 3**

 

Tauriel leapt after the barrels that were now bobbing through the raging river that passed through their land. She had made sure that Legolas was following, and had made her way onto one of the branches.

Nimble and flexible, they fell in step together, eyes darting. They were constantly moving, leaving none alive in their path of destruction. Together, Legolas and Tauriel were reminding those who strayed onto the territory of Thranduil of something they missed: Woodland Elves were not like those of Rivendell. They were less wise, and more dangerous.  

They were not to be mistaken for lords and ladies. Tauriel was graceful as much as any elleth of Rivendell. But she was a warrior, too: graceful and dangerous, a ruthless killer.

Legolas did not look at her as they ran. Instead, he concentrated on his engraved longbow and on his target. His icy eyes were small with his attentiveness, which was what he had always been known for. He never put himself over those who needed him.

And all though they didn’t want to admit it, the Woodland Realm had suffered losses they hadn’t since the Last Alliance. Orcs and spiders had never come in like this, and killed so many. When King Thranduil found out, he would be furious. The thought made Tauriel shiver.

She thought of this instead of what she was doing, stabbing and murdering random Orcs that came in her way. They squealed in pain and she hardly noticed. Black blood splashed onto her boots.

Soon, they had caught up with the barrels. Tauriel’s hazel eyes found Kili, the dwarf whom she had saved; on an impulse she couldn’t place. His eyes were closed, his breathing labored. Her heart thudded painfully at the sight.

She screamed suddenly; in her distraction, an Orc had caught her bow. Yelling in rage, she tossed him into the river, pulling her bow free before refocusing. She had no time to think of the dwarves.

She remembered all too well the last time an Orc had ambushed her like that.

 

[Flashback]

 

They sat face-to-face, their legs crossed, smiles decorating their faces. The beams of yellow light streaked Legolas’s face like gold paint. His bright blue eyes sparkled in contrast to his dark lashes.

“I have something for you.”

Tauriel’s mouth curved into a smile. Her fingers found a stray patch of grass; she began to nervously twiddle with the green strands. “What is it?”

He laughed, a sound that, even after years of knowing him, sent shivers down her spine. Her cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, furious with herself for blushing in the presence of the prince. Her eyes raised just enough to see him pulling a package out from behind his back.

“Here.” He offered it to her with a winning smile that made the heat rise to her cheeks even further.

“Thank you.” She took it gingerly; as though it was the most precious object she would ever lay her hands on. Afterwards, however, she didn’t know what to do.

Legolas rolled his eyes. “Go on. Open it.”

Her fingers shook for a reason she couldn’t place as she opened it, untying the crimson bow, and setting it in her lap. She did not want to ruin it by setting it in the dirt. Below the ribbon, there was a silver box, the same color as the stars Legolas took her to see every night. She carefully removed the lid, finding a collection of black decoration paper.

Suddenly nervous, she glanced up at Legolas, who was still smiling. He was chewing on his lip, though, the way he always did when he was anxious or upset. _He thinks I won’t like it_ , she thought.

She almost shut her eyes, and, reaching in, her fingers closed around something hard and cool. Metal. Tauriel glanced down in shock to see a necklace draped across her hand.

It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever seen; each gem refracted the sunlight in a different way, and there must have been a thousand of them, strung on a thin metal string, set in platinum.

“Turn it over,” Legolas murmured, his teeth sinking further into his lower lip.

She did. The center white gem was the largest, and was engraved on the reverse side. It said:

_My friend, let us carve a path in the stars together._

She was speechless. Openmouthed, Tauriel could only stare at the gift in shock.

“Do you like it?”

She looked up to see Legolas’s face full of light and hope. Her heart rushed open in that moment, and she forget everything except this beautiful moment, one that she would cherish forever.

“You must be joking.” Her voice came out as a squeak, rather than the shout she had been hoping for. “I _love_ it!”

She threw her arms around him, and they stayed that way for a long time. With him embracing her, stroking her hair, and with her face buried into his shoulder that smelled of sweet fog and pine.

They pulled apart, and he held his hand out. She placed the necklace in it, watching as he leaned forward, clasping it around her pale neck. It rested at the hollow of her throat, startling cold against her bare skin.

They smiled at each other, and it wasn’t strange or out of place. It felt natural, to be in the forest with him, to see him across from her, so that the light accentuated his already handsome features.

“What did I do to deserve such a beautiful thing?” She inquired, her tone suggesting genuine curiosity.

“I know how much you love white gems, and how much they remind you of the stars. I wanted to give you something special, especially after all you’ve been through since...” He didn’t finish, and instead occupied himself with a patch of grass.

Tauriel knew what he wanted to say. _Since Feya._ She had tried to push the thought of her mother from her mind; it was only painful, and she would start to cry, but Legolas’s consideration was tremendous. She had never imagined any elf would be so kind to her, let alone the royalty.

Of course, since they were friends, Legolas’s father had taken a certain sort of interest in her. Training, he had commented, was essential, and Legolas had made a good decision to become her teacher. She had been brought into the royal family with open arms; life without Anona and Kelda had left a gaping hole in their architecture.

She could still see it some days, when Legolas was in a foul mood. It hurt her to see him in so much pain. He had also lost part of his family, which only made the gesture ever more thoughtful.

A rustle in the trees interrupted her thoughts. Legolas was on his feet in an instant, bow drawn, arrow loaded. She groped for her own bow.

It was just in time; before long, the pack was on them, ten Wargs and their riders, screaming things Tauriel didn’t want to understand.

“Tauriel!” Legolas slashed at one of them, and a head rolled onto the dirt. “Get back to the palace. Get the Guard!”

“And leave you here?” Tauriel ducked, narrowly missing an axe. “Have you lost your mind? No!”

He grabbed her arm, yanking her back into the trees. “Then run.” The words were a breath in her ear.

They ran together, hands locked, hearts pounding. The sight of the white marble palace sent relief rushing through Tauriel’s veins.

Legolas shouted at the guard by the gate. “Help! Orcs, they’re—“

He broke off with something akin to a scream tearing out of his throat. Tauriel screamed with him; shockingly scarlet blood poured from a wound in his leg. Gritting his teeth, Legolas managed to shoot an arrow straight into the mouth of the guilty Warg, sending the foul creature sprawling into the blanket of trees.

“Legolas!” Tauriel reached for him, but he was already staring at something. A figure was rapidly approaching from the gates. _Eru._

King Thranduil strode from the gates, something long and wicked gleaming in his hands. Scarlet robes trailed behind him, his flaxen hair and icy eyes luminescent in the sun. His gaze was that of utter fury, and it only intensified upon seeing Legolas’s leg.

“Get inside.” His voice was steel.

“Father—“Legolas started to put a hand on his arm.

“I said, _get inside_. You do not disobey me, Legolas.”

Tauriel gulped, and pulled on her friend’s arm. “Legolas, please. _Please._ ”

They ran—or in the prince’s case, limped— inside, the only sound being Thranduil’s sword, brought forward in an arc. He was, Tauriel realized, the reason Legolas was so good at fighting. She watched in awe as the gates closed.

“I believe he may be angry with me now.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No. It was his way of showing you how much he loves you, Legolas.”

“What?”

She turned to him now, looking him directly in the eye. Her gaze softened. “He wasn’t about to lose his son too.”

 

[End Flashback]

 

Tauriel’s hand instinctively went to her throat, where, of course, there was nothing. She grimaced, wishing memories would just leave her be. Another head fell at her feet, and her gaze snapped back up, to meet her foes. To meet reality.

 

* * *

 

 

Legolas used the dwarves to his advantage. If they were going to be in his way, then he planned on exploiting this.

An Orc landed in front of him, teeth bared in a hideous snarl. Smiling ever so slightly, his wrist twisted, his arm plunging a knife deep into its belly. The thing hissed, and Legolas yanked back, splattering his boots with dark blood as he did so. Grimacing, he kicked the not-yet-dead Orc in the chest, using it to propel his body down the staircase and into another flood of the vermin.

His blade struck home once, twice, thrice, and again before he paused, just long enough to wipe the layer of sweat now covering his brow. _Sweat?_

Legolas ignored his steadily rising exhaustion, tuning in to the cries that filled the air. Shrieks and whistles of the Orcs flew past him easily; he was searching for the call of his kin.

They were far from the palace wall now, and around him, he could see a relentless assault of the Woodland Guard. No doubt they had heard the news of Arphenion.

Legolas could see the edge of their territory now, looming in the distance. He knew all too well what his father would think if he leapt over the border. His icy eyes raked the landscape, in search of Tauriel.

He found her, slaying her final Orc before watching the company of dwarves bob into the distance. Then she was a gone, a flash of auburn hair among the trees, and he was left alone, watching their prisoners escape.

He heard it too late; a sound any elf would have known in his sleep. By the time he turned, the arrow had already been loosened—

And knocked out of the air, by another. In awe and horror, Legolas saw another flash of tarnished copper, heard a savage scream he had never witnessed before.

Tauriel yelled, and it was terrible and like nothing he had ever heard come out of her. She screamed, bringing her hand down on the Orc’s body in one swoop of her dagger, poised to kill.

“Tauriel. _Wait!_ ” His back still turned, he molded his face into an impassive expression.

But it could not hold, especially when he saw the savagery in hers. Her teeth were bared in a snarl, her hazel eyes red with the morning light. His breath caught in his throat; he cleared it impatiently.

“This one, we keep alive.”

She nodded, loosening her grip ever so slightly on the gurgling Orc, who was now kneeling at her feet. The ferocious expression melted off her face, replaced by one of relief and pain.

“As you wish.” Her voice was calm.

Even as they walked back to the palace, however, her gesture was not lost on him. She had knocked an arrow out of the air _with her own_ , something he wondered if even he had achieved. The prince almost shivered at the thought of how close he had been to death. He stole a glance at her, only to find her gaze clear, like a slate wiped clean.

Tauriel handed the Orc off to one of the guards at the gate. He began to follow, save the hand on his shoulder. Gentle, tentative. Attributes he had never connected to her.

When they faced each other, for the first time since the betrothal, he saw only concern. An emotion she rarely let the others see. He covered her pale hand with his own.

“I’m all right.” It was a murmur of both comfort and gratitude.

She nodded quickly, letting out a shaky breath. Then she turned in, bit her lip, and marched inside. Ready, Legolas realized, to interrogate the Orc.

 


	4. 4: The Flames of War

**Chapter 4**

 

Eyela absentmindedly fingered the precious jewels around her neck. They were of little comfort to her in her loneliness.

Legolas had rushed out of the hall as usual, just as he had the night of the Feast of Starlight. King Thranduil had yanked Queen Anona to her feet, and together, they had all but rushed from the room. No elf had known what was happening.

And so, the future Queen of Mirkwood was sitting in an empty hall, her pale hands clasped in her lap. At times, she would hear shouts from the gates and would look up, in hopes of news. But there was nothing.

She felt a gentle hand on her angular shoulder. “Eyela?”

“Arwen.” It was a whisper, though not one of gratitude or relief. She had wanted Legolas. She had wished for him by her side, for the hand on hers to be callused and yet soft as the winter snow.

Her cousin kneeled beside her. Reached towards her hands tentatively, as if expecting a flinch or cower. Eyela let her take them; let her admire the silver ring now decorating her right index finger. The moonstones caught every beam of morning light, causing it to shine ever brighter.

“It’s beautiful,” Arwen breathed. “Now, it is complete. You are the future wife of Legolas Thranduillion.”

Eyela bobbed her head in agreement, though everything inside of her was telling her to shake it. “I suppose so,” she murmured.

“He will return unharmed,” Arwen assured her. “His strength in battle is not to be underestimated.”

At that, Eyela glanced up. “Yes, he does have someone watching over him, doesn’t he?” Against her will, her voice cracked.

Arwen’s expression changed. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressing together in agitation. “If you are speaking of Tauriel—“

“Ah, Eyela. Thank Eru you’re safe.”

The two turned to see Elrond sweeping across the grand hall. Eyela stood to greet him, and he pulled her into an embrace. When they pulled back, the worry seemed to melt away from his tired eyes. Eyela gave him the most reassuring smile she could manage.

“I can assure you that I am fine. This madness has nothing to do with me,” she said almost bitterly, gesturing to the soldiers running out of the palace, taking a short cut through their engagement hall.

“Certainly not,” Elrond agreed. “The dwarves have escaped.”

“The Dwarves of Erebor? Legolas mentioned their capture to me, however briefly,” she said, allowing him to drag her farther into the Realm.

“I need to ensure your safety—“ her uncle began, but stopped speaking when he saw her raised hand.

She shook her head. “I can go to my quarters from here, uncle. Thank you.”

He placed a tender kiss upon her forehead. Arwen, in turn, wrapped her arms around her, and flashed a knowing smile. Then they were gone, down the spiral staircases, leaving her to roam about the hallways in peace.

Eyela did in fact go to her quarters. She removed the silver circlet from her head, and slipped into a more comfortable gown—pure aquamarine silk lined with ivory thread—before stepping out into the empty hallway.

She glanced back and forth, making sure there were no guards or other elves lingering in the halls before descending the staircases. Her gown flew behind her, trailing as though she was a bird, and it was a single azure wing, taking her to her destination.

Tauriel’s quarters were very small; Eyela had to duck to get in. She raked her eyes across the room, looking for something, anything that may give her an impression of the she-elf warrior.

Within the room itself, there were far more items than she thought were possible for a guard. An oak vanity sat in the right corner of the room. One of its legs was slightly cracked; it wobbled with instability as the floorboards vibrated under her feet. There was a bed, reasonable in size, more for decoration than anything else. On the left side of the room, a trunk took up the majority of the space. A lock clasped around the handle, and Eyela knew that she wouldn’t be opening the trunk today.

She made her way over to the vanity instead, to a gilded gold jewelry box that had caught her eye. _What could Tauriel be doing with such an expensive box?_

Inside, she knew the answer. Tauriel _had_ told her that she and Legolas had been friends all through their childhood. Biting back the instant stab of jealousy that bloomed inside of her, she ran she finger over the swirls of silver and gold that seemed to embroider the box.

Against her will and good thought, she lifted the lid. Black velvet lined the entire cubicle. But Eyela saw something far more interesting: a necklace. It was made of gems of pure starlight, set it platinum. Eyela ran her hand over it in awe.

“Legolas gave this to you, did he not?” She murmured, gently placing back where it came. She almost turned away, but as she was letting it go, she felt something brush her finger.

It was the smallest touch, a wisp of wind against her skin. But she felt it, nevertheless. And upon flipping the piece over, she understood why.

_My friend, let us carve a path in the stars together._

She recoiled as though it had burned her, dropping the necklace back inside and slamming the cover of the jewelry box before she could think too much on the words. The words he had never said to her.

Hiking up her skirts, she ran up the marble staircase, breathing as though she had been running for several yards. Even as she leaned over the banister, safe and away from the gift, it had left an imprint on her mind. It had burned into her skull, into her soul.

“Eyela?”

The voice made her jump. “Legolas!”

He tilted his head, clearly confused by her behavior. He had taken off his fine silver tunic, she observed, and had traded it for something lighter. His quiver was completely empty, and she noticed the small drops of sweat on his forehead. She wondered if he saw her slightly flushed cheeks, or the way her chest heaved under the blue silk of her gown. Her grip tightened on the railing.

Her betrothed smiled in a very humorless way. “They got away.”

Before she could respond, he reached forward and touched her cheek. Cradled it under his palm, as though he could see no one else. There was _worry_ , she realized, in his gaze.

“Are you all right?” Legolas asked. “Those foul creatures did not find their way inside, however—“

“I’m fine,” she assured him. Against her will, words spewed out of her mouth. “Is Tauriel and the rest of the guard all right?”

They were both equally surprised by her outburst. He raised his eyebrows before responding carefully. “They are well.” She knew what he wanted to say. _As well as we could be, considering this surprise attack._

She raised her chin. “Good.”

He sighed, almost as though he had been holding his breath all that time. His hand fell away from her face. “Then I suppose I have to leave you now.”

“Why?” She didn’t mean to sound so needy, and cringed at the whiny undertone to the question.

He looked away. “I have to interrogate with my father. I will return.”

If she had expected a parting kiss, or a reassuring squeeze of the hand, she would have been disappointed. But the fact that he had willingly touched her, that he had come to her on his own—that was enough to make Eyela happy.

Even if she couldn’t get the necklace out of her mind.

 

* * *

 

 

“Such is the nature of evil. Out there in the vast ignorance of the world, it festers and spreads; a shadow that grows in the dark; a sleepless malice as black as the oncoming wall of night. So it ever was. So will it always be. In time, all foul things come forth.”

Thranduil’s voice rang about the throne room, even after he had finished. He stopped pacing, crossing his arms tightly over himself in what might have been a defensive pose. Legolas obediently kept his knife positioned below the Orc’s chin. His wrist was steady and firm against its tough skin.

“You were tracking a company of thirteen dwarves,” Legolas barked. “Why?”

The foul creature bobbed its head up and down upon the question, a strange growling coming from the depths of its throat. “Not thirteen. Not anymore.”

From the corner of his eyes, Legolas saw Tauriel stiffen.

“The young one: the black-haired archer. We stuck him with a morgul shaft,” the Orc continued. Legolas noticed that he was looking at Tauriel when he said it. “Poison’s in his blood. He’ll be choking on it soon.”

Tauriel raised her chin, but her hands were shaking. “Answer the question, filth.”

“I do not answer to dogs, she-elf!” The Orc spat, before trembling against Legolas’s blade.

Tauriel responded in a simple movement. There was a flash; she had drawn her own long knife, holding it menacingly in front of her. Legolas couldn’t help but glance at his father, who had gone impossibly still. _What is Tauriel thinking?_

“I would not antagonize her,” he advised honestly. Head lowered, he bit his lip, praying that Tauriel would not do anything foolish in front of his father.

But across the room, his friend had lost all sense of such a thing as foolishness. Gritting her teeth, she almost smiled as she uttered her next words. “You like killing things, Orc? You like death? Then let me give it to you!”

She hurdled forward, her knife poised to kill, her eyes carrying the same savagery Legolas had seen after she saved his life by the river. She moved with a snarl, lighting fast. She moved to stab—

“ _Enough_!”

Half crouching, Tauriel froze. Legolas’s eyes widened. When he raised his gaze, he managed to keep a deadpan expression. Thranduil’s voice had stopped her in his tracks. Behind his knife, the Orc let out a choking laugh.

“Tauriel.” His voice was steel, deeper than before, now that he was speaking in Elvish. “Leave. Go now.”

Legolas gulped. His father was practically radiating anger, and he knew Tauriel had seen it. Some of the light left from her eyes, but she said nothing. Almost challengingly, she lowered her knife and stalked from the room.

Legolas was concerned. Tauriel, however reckless she may be, had never lost her temper in such a way during an interrogation. He wondered how the news of the dwarf had affected her, though he had little time to dwell on such thoughts, with his father picking up where they left off as though nothing had happened.

“I do not care about one dead dwarf,” the king said. “Answer the question. Tell us what you know, and I will set you free.”

 _Free_? Legolas would have gaped. Instead, he continued smoothly. “You had orders to kill them. Why? What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?”

“The dwarf runt,” the Orc spat. “Will never be king.”

“King?” Legolas scoffed. “There is no king under the mountain, nor will there ever be. None would dare enter Erebor, whilst the dragon lives—“

“You know nothing!” If Legolas hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought the creature was laughing. “Your world…will _burn_.”

Legolas gritted his teeth. Across the room, Thranduil came closer; his face pinched with an expression Legolas couldn’t place.

Annoyed at his own ignorance, he tightened his hold on the knife. “What are you talking about?” No answer came, and he dug the tip into skin. “Speak!”

The Orc cackled some more. “Your time has come again. My master…serves _the One._ ”

Thranduil’s back pinched almost imperceptibly. But the Orc was not finished.

“Do you understand now, elfling? Death is upon you. The flames of war are upon you—“

Legolas recoiled, disgusted. The thing had been laughing. He glanced up to where his father stood, a sword in his hand, his upper lip curled in disgust.

“Why did you do that?” Legolas asked. “You promised to set him free.”

“And I did,” Thranduil said simply. “I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders.” Where the Orc’s body lay twitching, he brought his boot upon it with finality.

“There was more the Orc could tell us,” Legolas protested.

“There was nothing more he could tell _me_ ,” his father said, before descending the stairs, gliding his sword back into its sheath.

Legolas turned with him. “What did he mean by the flames of war?”

With his back to him, Thranduil’s voice was tight. “He means they intend to unleash a weapon so great, it will destroy all before it.” He turned back to his son. “I want the watch doubled at our borders; all roads, all rivers. Nothing moves but I hear of it. No one enters this kingdom, and no one leaves it.”

Legolas strode towards the front gates. “Close the gates. Keep them sealed, by order of the King.”

Confident, he turned on his heel, back into the palace when Dalyor’s voice stopped him. “What about Tauriel?”

He froze. Something within him told him to keep going, to ignore her. Besides, he already knew what his friend was going to say. He clenched his jaw. “What about her?”

“She left, armed with her bow and blade. She has not returned.”

Before he knew what he was doing, he was staring into the forest, his gaze directed where Dalyor was pointing. It was not surprising that Tauriel had run off, to follow thirty Orcs on her own. He sighed inwardly.

What _was_ surprising, however, was how quickly his heart was set on following her.


	5. 5: An Act of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! I know it's not Saturday, and technically I'm on Christmas Break right now and you'll still miss two updates, but I wanted to post this really quickly. And along with that, I should apologize with how inconsistent my updates have been recently, due to school and traveling. But after Christmas Break, I promise it will be every single Saturday :)
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I truly hope you enjoy this chapter, and Happy Holidays to all of you! ^.^

**Chapter 5**

 

“She has gone.”

“I am aware.”

Thranduil kept his back turned to his wife, resisting the urge to pace across the large meeting room. To his left, the Lonely Mountain loomed in the distance, streaks of grey on the horizon.

Anona rose from her oaken chair, coming to rest her hand upon his. “Tauriel has nothing but good in mind, Thranduil.”

“Then she should have listened to her King!” He pulled his arm away from her, whipping around to face the snow-capped peaks in the distance. “I told her not to leave from here. I told _them all_ not to leave from here.”

“Thranduil, you’ve grown less patient and more angry with time, my love,” Anona’s soothing voice drifted into his ear, penetrating his anger like a hot spear into ice. “She is everything like me, when we were to be married.”

“Yes, and do you remember how much trouble you got into because of it?” He asked coldly, not bothering to meet her gaze.

Anona sighed. “She is a brilliant elleth. She has brought great joy to the kingdom; she has brought great joy to our son.”

Thranduil stiffened at that. _Legolas._

As if on cue, he heard another voice—much like his own—come from behind them. “Father.”

“ _Ion nin [my son]_ ,” he replied calmly.

Their son strode across the dimly lit hall. Stopped almost a yard away from his father, as practiced, before looking at his mother expressionlessly. “May I speak to you, father?”

Anona raised a caramel eyebrow. “Alone?”

“Please.”

She let out a breath through her teeth, giving Thranduil something akin to a stony glare. “I know what you wish to ask him, Greenleaf.”

“So does he,” Legolas responded. “But I would like to ask him formally.”

Thranduil flexed his fingers, letting the anger at his son seep out of them as he did so. There was no use to any of it; either way, Legolas would go. Either way, he would go to his predictable death. His wife did not need to see or hear of that. Not yet.

Her jaw was set, and for a moment, Thranduil saw her again: the elleth in a brown servant’s gown, sweeping the floor angrily, snapping back at him whenever he tried to get a word in. _She is everything like me._

And Tauriel was—she truly did represent everything Anona had been before their marriage and trials. She was reckless, hasty, and distrusting. But this did not stop her from falling in love, or from the sentiments that had so plagued the icy King’s heart after Anona and Kelda were taken. When this thought occurred to him, Thranduil looked back at their son. _Does he know what Tauriel feels for the dwarf? Does he know that he has everything to lose?_

Behind him, Legolas looked desperate—though his hands clenching in and out of tight fists were the only indication of the state of his nerves. It was too great of a reminder to Thranduil of how he had been when Anona and Kelda had gone. How he had paced about the throne room in a drunken stupor, ordering every single guard out of the palace, not kindly. How he had been cold and stark to Legolas; an act he had, even now, not forgiven himself for.

But perhaps the greatest emotions swirling inside of the King had been the very ones he could not control: the guilt, the anger and the deep passion for revenge. The desire to go after them himself, to spend his strength on the very ones he loved most. These, along with so many others, were contributing to the torment his son was feeling. Thranduil knew this.

“Anona.” It was a sigh, one of both pleading and exasperation. “Leave us.”

He heard angry footfalls, and knew that he had succeeded—at least in one battle today. With that, he turned back to the mountains, waiting for his son to ask the obvious question. The silence stretched for longer than he had anticipated; Legolas had taken after his fancy for lengthy pauses.  

“I can bring her back.” It was not a question, as he’d expected, but rather a confident statement. A promise, lined with all the hope that Thranduil had lost over the long years. And behind this statement, behind the underlying question, there was also love decorating the words, coating them like sweet honey.

“What of Eyela?” He chose to ask this instead of the thousands of other questions swirling about his mind.

“She will understand.”

 _No, she will not._ How could she, when even Thranduil could not see why Legolas felt such a need to chase after the auburn-haired captain?

“There will be chaos, son. Nothing is as it was.”

“I can bring her back.”

Repeated, it was louder, more insistent. Thranduil looked back at his mirror image, at the ellon who looked at and saw the world as he did. _Or…perhaps Legolas is seeing the world differently now._

His attention was drawn to the sparkling silver ring on his son’s right index finger. Then back to the questioning, hopeful icy eyes. He sighed.

“You have two days.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow in confusion, until the realization set upon him. His features changed. “In two days…the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter will appear together.”

“Yes,” The King confirmed. “And the bells shall ring in gladness at the Mountain King’s return.” He turned towards the peak now, his eyes misty.

“But all shall fail in sadness, and the lake will shine and burn.”

 

* * *

 

 Eyela watched numbly as he emptied his belt. She could only stare as he reached for more silver-tipped arrows, as he pulled several white knives from the table to inspect them, before setting them down for his favored weaponry.

He barely acknowledged her. His deep brown brows furrowed in concentration, icy eyes narrowed into slits as he rewound his belt with skilled speed and precision, gliding each knife into place in a matter of seconds. He had traded his interrogation uniform—black steely armor with a heavy mahogany tunic—for his patrolling greens.

Eyela had seen Tauriel go, unwilling to listen to anyone who attempted to stop her. She had listened to the interrogation, had heard every word said against the dwarves. Had seen how much it had affected the she-elf warrior.

She descended the spiraling staircases with him, hesitance locking her arms and mouth in place. Without a sound, he seemed to float to the bridge that lead out of the kingdom, to the gates.

Still, she followed him.

Finally, as his figure was growing smaller in the distance, as his shadow was beginning to fade, the shout finally escaped her lips. “Legolas!”

He turned, and for a moment, their identically colored blue eyes met. His azure orbs blazed with a passion unseen, flashing in the weak sunlight. She wished more than anything to know what he were thinking—knowing that, of course, her own eyes were filled with nothing but anguish.

She closed the distance between them fast, maintaining his intense gaze with her own soft one. “You would go to her?”

He did not answer. In the heavy, tenebrous silence, she wished she could scream at him. Lash out, as she had wished to for many days. About Tauriel, about why he had chosen to go through with their betrothal. Why he was still trying, when she could so clearly see that it was an inefficacious endeavor.

Stopping inches away from him, with her hands still at her sides, she took a deep breath. “You would go to your death?”

At this, he straightened. “Should I let my greatest friend go to hers, then?”

She stiffened. “You will _die_. Let her be foolish, and leave without permission of the King or Prince. Let her die for her folly, but do not drag yourself into her woes, Legolas. She went by her leave.”

“You speak as though you know her,” Legolas growled. “She—“

“Is following her heart,” Eyela whispered, pleading and desperate. Her hand hovered towards his tight jaw. “She goes to save the dwarf whom she—“

“Do not insult what you do not understand, Eyela!” He ripped away from her, turning on his heel to face the light. She recoiled; Legolas had never shouted at her, or at anyone. _Why does he defend her so?_

Could he not see why she had gone? The reason, Eyela knew, was far from simply hunting Orcs that had crossed the border. “Legolas—“

“She goes because she is a loyal and fierce warrior,” he murmured with his back to her. His breaths came heavy and hard; she could see simply from his stance how tense he was. “And I will not leave her alone, for doing so would mean her death, and I cannot allow that.”

Something within Eyela broke with those words, releasing rivers of emotions that flowed through her veins, leaving her panting and staring at the floor. She stepped away as if in fear, her pale hand dropping down to her side. Her mouth trembled.

 _This_ was the extent of his caring for Tauriel.

It was suffocating. But through the haze of pain, she managed to look up. Managed to comprehend that he had met her gaze with an equivalent one, filled with the same anguish she felt in waves crashing through her heart.

“You go to her.” It came out blank and emotionless, even if within herself Eyela felt anything but. “The King will be angry.”

“I have spoken to him,” Her betrothed said. “He has given me time.”

“Time to do what?” Eyela’s voice rose several octaves, hysteria causing it to break at the end of the sentence. “To be killed? To follow her on an futile attempt to save the mountain?”

He did not touch her in her distress. Instead, his eyes flickered back to the wood, to where Tauriel had fled. “I will bring her home, Eyela.”

She looked away, unable to hold back the tears that now spilled from her eyes. Behind her, his deep voice sounded again. “I will return.”

She whipped around too late. He was gone.

Eyela stood trembling at the base of the bridge. Her soul, the very fabric of her being, felt ripped to shreds, empty beyond all repair. The core of her heart was bleeding profusely, the knife in it from the very elleth who had captured Legolas’s heart. Ever since the necklace, she had known. _Tauriel._

How could she have been so blind, so stupid to the very thing that had been sitting in her lap from the moment she arrived? How could she have stayed, knowing the magnitude of Legolas’s honor could never allow him such a mistake as to leave her?

And he hadn’t left her, until now. He had stayed by her side, every bit the loyal, honorable betrothed. The soldier, the protector; Legolas never failed to attain the standard his father boasted. And yet…

She gasped, falling back. Her entire chest felt as though it was on fire. _How? How could I have been so stupid?_

Tears of pain fell from her eyes, drops of sweat trickling down her forehead. In her attempt to stay conscious, she heard herself call out. “Thranduil! Anona!”

Never had she used the names of royalty so casually since meeting Legolas— _Legolas_. The thought sent her sprawling across the floor, sent electric volts of pain up into her heart. Kneeling on the wood, she retched and gulped. But the air never reached her lungs.

Somewhere beside her, she felt someone gripping her arm, calling her name. Arwen, perhaps. There was an elf in front of her as well—the Queen Anona—cupping her face whilst shouting instructions to the guard.

In the final flashes of pain, she felt the tide of black rising, making speech and sight quite impossible. Still, something escaped her dry lips. “Legolas…”

Another flash of pain, more insistent this time. Eyela screamed, squeezing her eyes shut against the many worried faces that were drifting in and out of black spots. Her fist clenched, and her breathing evened.

Against the backdrop of stars in her eyes, she could see him. She could see the ellon she loved more than the moon and stars and everything in between, the one who had captured her heart with a gentle hand, who had entertained her love for as long as he could manage. Against her lids, she saw only him. She thought of no one else. She thought of nothing else.

And as the night swallowed her, even then, she did not think of his glances towards the other she-elf. She did not see him running out of the gates.

She did not see his act of love for Tauriel.

 


	6. 6: At the Overlook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaannd, I'm baaack!! Thanks for waiting for this update, and I truly hope you enjoy!!

**Chapter 6**

 

Tauriel ran.

The sour expression that had formed on her face at seeing Eyela at the gate had taken root permanently, and she jogged with what was a scowl etched upon her lips. It only deepened, when what Eyela said came to mind:

“You cannot possibly expect this sort of folly to earn his attention.”

Tauriel had stiffened. Had turned to the other elleth with fire burning inside her chest.

Her gaze must have unsettled Eyela deeply, for she quickly rushed over her next words. “You think he’ll come after you? After everything you’ve done?”

“Everything I’ve done?” Tauriel wanted to scream, but the words came out as a hiss instead. “No, my lady.”

She stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a single fluid stride. The Captain of the Woodland Guard made sure her best friend’s betrothed could see every detail of the anger in her eyes.

“I do not _think._ I _know_.”

With that, she had whipped around, auburn hair ablaze, and had disappeared into the forest. Breathing hard, she had not stopped, running until she knew the palace and the Lady of Rivendell were far behind her.

She knew Legolas would come. After all, hadn’t he come after Feya’s untimely death, to stay with her? And hadn’t she come to his aid, in times of need?

 _Lady Eyela,_ she thought ferociously as she ran across the rocks. _Legolas and I have far more than a friendship. We have a duty to each other. Don’t you know that by now?_

 

[Flashback]

 

Tauriel approached the throne room with great trepidation. Her hands shook with a strange fear. This was not her first report. Yet, the tension she felt in the air whilst approached the King and Prince was stifling; more than once, she considered turning back.

“My lord.” She chided herself for how her voice shook as she addressed the King Thranduil.

He turned and regarded her with a calm, regal gaze. At the base of the throne, Legolas kept his head lowered. _Has an argument passed between them?_

“What news from the Guard?”

She straightened, averting her eyes from her friend. “All is quiet, my lord. Nothing has been heard of the spiders, and—“

Just then, heavy footsteps sounded behind her. Whipping around, Tauriel saw Glandur jogging towards them. A decorated healer, Glandur, according to Legolas, had been tending to his mother and sister day and night, trying to relieve them of some pain and sickness. From the corner of her eye, Tauriel saw Legolas look up.

Thranduil sat forward. Something within his kingly gaze changed. It was small, but Tauriel saw the adjustments of his wont stony features; the sudden alertness of his limbs, as though he was expecting a fight; the clench in his jaw; the way he glanced towards his son, almost as if he wished Legolas was not present to hear the news.

In much softer tones, he asked again. “What news, Glandur?”

The healer glanced back and forth, first at Tauriel, then at Legolas, who was regarding him with a curious, nervous expression. He sighed. Lifted his gaze to meet the King’s.

“My lord, the Princess does not awaken. And the Queen…”

Thranduil looked away from his guard. He seemed to be fighting a battle with himself.

“The elves of Rivendell have been notified of her illness. It is doubtful we can do much more for her. We have tended to her wounds; have attempted to cease her suffering, if only by a small amount. But I fear we cannot undo the damage. I…” Glandur looked at the ground. “I am truly sorry, my King.”

Thranduil looked up at this. Beneath impossibly ornate golden robes, Tauriel saw his chest heaving. “You may go,” he said finally, in a tone that dismissed both of them with no room left for discussion.

It was at that moment that Tauriel looked at Legolas again. He was breathing heavily as his father, but Tauriel could see into the calm gaze he gave Glandur, into the depths of the pure anguish behind each breath. Her eyes widened as he strode past her, and it was only when his footfalls turned harder and more insistent—he was running from the throne room—that she thought to follow him. With one last glance at the King, she rushed past Glandur, into the wall of green after the Prince.

He was not outside, nor in the outskirts of Mirkwood. “Legolas?” She called softly into the wind, waiting for his musical voice to answer her.

She looked to the branches, proceeding to walk about the palace, through the paths around the waterfalls and out towards the wall of stone, the border of Mirkwood. He was not there.

Frustrated, Tauriel paced the bridge lying directly outside the throne room. She racked her brain of all the places they had gone, of all the places she knew he found comfort in. The lack of thoughts or ideas only aggravated her stride.

“You cannot find him, then?”

She jumped; in her anger and concentration, she had not seen King Thranduil approach. Embarrassed, she ducked her head, her cheeks flaming. “Apologies, my lord. I did not—“

“The North tower.”

She looked up in surprise. King Thranduil’s back was to her, his voice strained when he spoke next. “When he was healing…after the accident…” he trailed off, turning to face her now with an unreadable expression. “He went up there.”

Tauriel did not know anything of the Queen Anona and the Princess Kelda, other than that they were constantly ill. Legolas would pale each time she asked about the “accident”, and the King never spoke of it.

“My lord?”

“I know, because I have been up there already, to see him. He will not see me.” His eyes seemed to pierce through her soul, down to the core of her heart. “It is you who can comfort him.”

Tauriel froze. She barely noticed Thranduil leaving, his robes trailing after him. Her heart pumped furiously in her ears. _It is you who can comfort him._

The Northern tower and been a watchtower, in the days of the Last Alliance. After the first War of the Ring, it had long since been abandoned, leaving the ledge of the oaken window dusty and the sunlight streaming through it unseen. Tauriel had not wandered so far into the realm in all her life.

His back was to her. If he heard her approaching, he did not show it. The wind came through one of the rare open windows of the Woodland Realm, whipping and tangling in his flaxen hair, disturbing the strands around his shoulders. For a moment, she did not say anything.

“Legolas—“

His bow was aimed at her heart so swiftly; she almost didn’t have time to react. When recognition flashed in his eyes, he lowered the bow in apology. “I thought you were an Orc.”

 _Apparently he did not hear me._ “If I was an Orc, you’d be dead.”

Some of the tension melted from his face; he smiled softly at the jest. Then, without another word, he turned away from her to look into the distance, at a destination she could not see.

“Legolas,” she tried again. “I wish you would tell me what grieves you so.”

“I—“

“And do not tell me that it is simply your mother and sister’s illnesses.” She stepped forward. “There is a deeper source to this wound.”

He took a deep breath, saying nothing.

Tauriel let out a sigh before placing a gentle hand on his arm. “This burden…it is not yours to bear alone.”

“Is it not?” His humorless laugh filled the halls. “I am alone. I will not tell you.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he raised his hand to silence her. “Simply because you do not need to know.”

“Then do not tell me.” Tauriel said, though the words stung. “But at least let me help you. Let me take some of this poisonous sadness from you.” _Expressing your emotions is not a sign of weakness, my friend._

He turned to face her now, and she could fully comprehend the toils of his emotions simply from looking at him. The light hit his face so that she could see the sallowness of his face; the deep dark shadows beneath his eyes and cheekbones. A deep, dark purple bruise throbbed at his neck—it had not healed since the day they had met. Tears prickled at the back of her eyes.

“Legolas.”

No answer.

“Won’t you smile again?”

Something within his eyes broke open upon hearing her say it; the tears that had been stinging her eyes spilled forth across his face.

“I am here for you, _mellon._ You are my teacher, and my friend. I want nothing more than to see you smile again.”

 She took his hand in hers, for comfort and strength. And, through the release of emotions, in the tiny corridor at the Northern end of the palace, Legolas smiled.

And Tauriel, in turn, smiled as well.

 

[End Flashback]

 

* * *

 

 

_What was she thinking?_

Legolas jogged across the rocks, his limbs quick and agile, his eyes darting in search of his friend. He had left as quickly as he could, and yet there was still some panic within him that doubted he would find her.

However, at the base of the lake, he did not miss the flash of tarnished copper as it waved like an auburn flag in the wind. He took a moment to admire her: her stance, the way the sun caught her hair and set it ablaze, her pale skin aglow in the morning light. In his lack of concentration, he stepped on a twig.

She reacted instantly, pulling an arrow towards his heart. He mimicked the movement, and for a moment they stood there, arrows nocked, battle ready. She was the first to lower her weapon.

“I thought you were an Orc!”

He raised an eyebrow. Remembered when she had said this to him, so long ago. “If I was an Orc, you’d be dead.”

She softly smiled, before turning to look out across the lake. Legolas sighed before lowering his bow.

“Tauriel. You cannot hunt thirty Orcs on your own.”

She looked back at him, eyes glinting. “But I’m not on my own.”

Legolas felt an unwelcome fluttering in his stomach. “You knew I would come.”

Her knowing gaze was the only answer he needed. The world seemed to tilt on its axis for a moment, before he realized what he had come for and the anger and betrayal he had felt at hearing of her absence came rushing back.

“The King is angry, Tauriel. For six hundred years my father has protected you, favored you. You defied his orders. You betrayed his trust.” He tried to put as much emotion behind the words as he could. “Come back with me. He will forgive you.”

“But I will not,” she snapped back. “If I go back, I will not forgive myself. The King has never let Orc filth pass through our lands, yet he would let this Orc pack cross our borders and kill our prisoners.”

Frustrated, he tried again. “It is not our fight.”

“It _is_ our fight,” she said, gaining resolve. “It will not end here. With every victory, this evil will grow. If your father has his way, we will do nothing. We will hide within our walls, live our lives away from the light, and let darkness descend.”

He had no answer for her. Part of him knew that she was right, and he pictured his father’s face after the Orc had spoken of the One, how Arphenion’s skull had been shattered whilst he protected his home. He thought of Tauriel, and the ferociousness with which she had defended him during the fight.

“Tell me, _mellon_ ,” Tauriel pressed, stepping towards him. “When did we let evil become stronger than us?”

 

* * *

 

 

Thranduil swept across the hall, scarlet robes trailing behind him as he made his way to the healing chambers.

As soon as they had found Eyela, they had moved her unconscious body onto a bed, so that Lord Elrond could examine her sudden faint. She had been found on the bridge, where Legolas had recently departed from the realm to search for Tauriel…and King Thranduil had his own suspicions on what had caused her so much pain.

A heavy, weighty silence awaited him as he entered the chamber. Across the bed, Eyela looked strangely peaceful, her skin pale even against the white sheets, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow. Thranduil sucked in his breath, taking in Anona’s expression.

“What has happened?”

Lord Elrond rose from his chair beside her bed, from where he had been comforting his daughter. “She does not respond to me when I call. She cannot hear me.”

The Elvenking swallowed hard. “But surely she will recover?”

Arwen let out a choked sob from beside the bed. Lord Elrond looked at her apologetically before meeting Thranduil’s icy eyes with his own dark ones. His eyes, the King realized, were filled with agony. _It cannot be._

Anona glided over to him in an instant, her hand gentle on his arm. The tears on her cheeks were an indication that Thranduil’s worst fears were being confirmed, before his very eyes.

“Elrond…” He clenched his shaking hands.

Across the room, Elrond looked down at Eyela as a father would look at his daughter, with nothing but pure love in his gaze He placed a hand upon her cool forehead, letting out a deep, knowing sigh.

“She is fading.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of the predicament with Eyela and Legolas? And the little flashback? As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	7. 7: A Journey to Begin

**Chapter 7**

 

They traveled with great haste. The physical toil of running for many hours may have affected Dwarves or Men, but for elves, their natural and athletic aptitude kept them going. It was only after reaching Lake Town that Legolas felt the full extent of his exhaustion set in.

His thighs and throat burned with the sudden cold. Glancing over to Tauriel, he saw that she was having much of the same reaction to the unexpected drop in temperature. Legolas should have known—due to their proximity to the mountain, the air here was far colder than the Realm from whence they’d come.

There was no sign of the Orcs. Legolas and Tauriel searched the town swiftly and inconspicuously, attempting to blend in with the crowd of scraggly men and women. Neither of their tasks were successful; they could not find the Orcs, and their pale skin—flushed though it was, with the cold— and attire only gave them away. They received several confused and astonished glances as they made another lap.

Legolas, being the King’s son, received several more stares than necessary. The people had often heard tales of the Sindarin King and Prince of the Woodland Realm. Their icy eyes, silver-blonde hair, deep brown brows. The cold, coupled with people’s wondering gazes made Legolas uncomfortable; he moved closer to his traveling companion.

At a point, their fingers brushed. A strange tingling traveled up his hand afterwards, and he couldn’t help but glance to the side. But Tauriel’s gaze was fixed in front of her, impassive and calm.

They decided to scout on the roofs as an alternative—it attracted less attention. But even then, there was no sign of their prey. So the hunters settled before the watchtower, pressed together for warmth.

Legolas tried to keep his mind off of her. They obviously had bigger problems to worry about, but he had been over analyzing those for the hours that they had been traveling in silence. But he didn’t look at her—he _couldn’t_ look at her.

Instead, he sighed deeply. “Tauriel, why are we here?”

He had not meant to say it so bluntly, or so informally. Nevertheless, it got her attention, and he could feel her gaze on him for several moments afterwards before she spoke.

“You are troubled, Legolas.”

He stiffened. “Should I not be, with the attacks that have been so frequent, with the very darkness you speak of hanging around us like a fog? Should I not be, when I so blatantly disobeyed my father to come after you?”

From the corner of his eyes, he saw her eyebrow quirk. “You are troubled,” she repeated.

He opened his mouth to speak again, angrily, but she cut him off. “And it is not this looming threat that is plaguing your mind.”

Was he so easily read? He fought back a scowl, knowing that she was right, as she always was when it came to his thoughts. “I asked you the question, not the other way around.”

Tauriel blew out a cloud of hot air as she sighed. “We are here because we need to do what is right. Is that not why you came?”

 _I came for you!_ Legolas would have shouted. His eyes flickered to her. “That is not the only reason why you are here.”

Now she faced him, shifting her weight as she turned. Still, he could not look at her. “What do you mean?”

Her tone was not accusatory. So he finally gave in, turning to meet her hazel eyes with his own icy blue ones. She was still slightly flushed with the cold, her once pale cheeks high in rosy color. It was then that he felt her hand on his.

“I did not think you were so intent upon saving the life of a creature: one that, two days ago, you had no knowledge of.” He did not bother hiding the anger from his voice as he pulled away. He ignored the pang in his heart upon seeing her widening eyes, upon feeling the emptiness on his skin where her hand had been.

“He is not a creature.”

It was not what he had expected at all. She went on, unobserving of his slowly tensing stance.

“He is not a creature,” she repeated. “He is a being, dwarf or not. He may _die_ —“

“Is this why we are here?” Legolas knew he was speaking too loudly, but he did not care. “Is this why you brought me here—to save the life of a _dwarf_?”

Tauriel could not meet his eyes. “I never said that.”

“It was implied.”

When she looked up, her eyes were filled with a desperation that took him aback. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she moved closer to him. “Legolas…”

On an impulse he couldn’t—and did not want to—place, his hand went up to her face, cradling her cheek. She leaned into his hand, covering it with her own soft fingers. He could not stand to see her in pain, especially when he brought that pain upon her.

So they stayed like that, in a peaceful silence before his hand fell away to his lap, and he softly, apologetically smiled at her.

_Why are we here?_

She did want to save the dwarf, there was no denying it. He could see it in her eyes, could see the subtle change in the atmosphere after she had mentioned Kili’s wound. He had known her for too long not to notice such disturbances.

Even so, he pushed the thoughts of Tauriel having feelings for that… _thing_ out of his mind, at least for the moment. He turned back to look at the final beams of crimson sunlight, stretching across the horizon with their dim glow. A fisherman’s wife, who was purposefully striding across one of the many wooden bridges, caught his attention then, momentarily. She looked to be very angry.

His icy eyes followed her stomping figure across the town; therefore, he startled at Tauriel’s sudden utterance.

“Legolas?”

“Yes?”

When they faced each other, in that moment, he was aware of many things at once: the sunlight, dim though it was, striking her coppered hair; the soft curve of her mouth; the brightness in the depths of her green eyes, splashed with an essence of honey. She was beautiful. This, he could not change.

 

* * *

 

 

Tauriel had watched him carefully, since arriving in Lake Town. Now, he had the same innate impassive façade over his features. He was hiding something from her.

“Legolas, why does Kili concern you so?”

He scowled at the mention of the dwarf, as if hearing his name from her mouth made him sick. Attempting to look away, he growled, “I do not—“

“You do.” Her voice was firm. She pulled his face closer to her, studying his eyes. His ever changing eyes, although he tried not to show it.

“Why were you with him that day?” He asked finally, pulling his chin away from her grasp. “That night. On Mereth en Gilith.”

It was her turn to look away. She remembered the King’s cold gaze, Eyela’s mockery, and Kelda’s warning words echoed in her head. _Stay away from my brother._

“I will not.”

At his confused look, she blushed deeply. Her finger traced the carvings over her bow, slowly, deliberately. “I was…it was nothing. It was my own…insecurities that prevented me from attending.”

She could not have confused him further if she had tried. Legolas moved closer to her, almost as though he wanted to comfort her, wanted to understand. And as he approached, she moved away.

A flash of hurt came into his eyes, before it was gone, leaving Tauriel to wonder if she had imagined it. Her heart slammed in her chest, thundering in her ears.

 “Tauriel, I—“

She had had enough. Faster than she thought possible, she closed the distance between them, slanting her mouth, reaching her hands up to his face.

She kissed him.

 

* * *

 

Legolas instantly went rigid beneath her touch. He felt as though he had been doused in cold water, shocking him to his very core, rattling his heart in his chest. And yet, even with his unyielding frame, she did not let go.

He reacted as he thought he never would, sliding his hands to lace at the back of her skull, letting her hair fall through his fingers like coppery silk. Her skin was beautifully soft beneath his palm, the heat emanating off of her only mirrored in his feverish skin. Her hands loosened on his shoulders, tangling themselves in his hair, running her fingers over his cheeks.

He had always dreamed of kissing her. Eyela’s kisses were delicate, airy, the first rain against a windowpane. Tauriel was fire, an endless passion untold. She opened her mouth against his, and he, to his own surprise, allowed her to deepen the kiss. They moved closer still, eyes fluttering, and lashes dark against pale cheeks. She tasted sweet, like wine, like a burst of fresh honey in the coldest, darkest month of winter.

Then, a stab to the stomach, an image, pressed against his eyelids whilst he kissed the elleth whom he loved.

_Eyela…_

He gasped, pulling back, panting as the full severity of what he’d done rested on his mind. He dared to look up at her, to find that she was breathing hard as well, waiting for him to say something.

There was no question now that Tauriel returned his feelings. Elves did not kiss unless they were formally bonded, or, at the very least, courting each other. Tauriel had kissed _him_. He could not know whether to be jovial or sorrowful.

There was little time to find out, however. There was a loud scream from below them, and Legolas knew that their hunting mission was at risk, lest he delay any further. He looked at her with desperation and love in his eyes, before grabbing his bow.

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“Father.”

Thranduil turned; it was the not the voice of his only son, requesting an audience, but his only daughter.

“Where is your mother?”

Kelda raised a caramel eyebrow. “She is resting. She says she is no longer feeling well.”

A dart of panic blossomed within the Elven King. It did not show on his face as he addressed her. “What?”

Kelda paced the room, a trait she had acquired from her brother Legolas. “She will be fine.” She looked up. “As will I. If you care, that is.”

Now his eyes widened, a fraction of an amount. “Why do you say such things, Kelda?”

“I had not come to say ‘such things’,” she said after a pause. “Father, you have sent Legolas out to bring back a soldier…but he is being thrown into a war.”

Thranduil’s jaw tightened. “That is—“

“The truth,” Kelda interrupted, striding closer. “And he is in grave danger, as are the men of Lake Town. As are mother’s gems.”

Thranduil growled. “How do you know of those?”

“I had been told, by my brother.” She did not flinch under his gaze. “The very brother you sent to be killed!”

His eyes flashed. “Kelda—“

“The men of Lake Town will be slaughtered and destroyed by dragon fire. I care for their fate as little as you. But I love and care for my brother.” She stepped forward. “I love and care for the ones he loves, and for my mother. You know of whom I speak.”

“Tauriel?” It came out as a whisper.

“ _Ada_.” She lay her hand on his arm, a gesture that she hadn’t done for many, many years. “Go to the aid of the Men. Take back what is ours. There are times to be isolated and cruel, but in this dark hour,” she shook her head. “No creature deserves to be alone to die.”

“No,” Thranduil said. Images flashed in his mind; his father, killed before his very eyes, his blood seeping into the dirt; the forest turning dark while his people could only stand and watch; his kin, dying after the first War of the Ring.

He turned to his daughter, his decision made. Touched her cheek, briefly, gently. He then faced the guard beside his throne.

“Prepare the archers.”

“For what, my Lord?”

Thranduil straightened. “For war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, the kiss has been in the story plan for months now, so I was cackling a little bit when so many people told me they'd like Legolas and Tauriel to kiss. What did you think of the chapter? Any feels? Thoughts? :)
> 
> Thank you so much, as always, for reading!! ^_^


	8. 8: Lake Town

**Chapter 8**

 

Eyela was dreaming.

 

[Flashback]

 

“Legolas.”  King Thranduil urged the tiny ellon clinging to his robes forward. “Say hello to Lady Eyela.”

The brown-haired elleth, who was hiding behind her mother, peeked out to see the Prince of the Woodland Realm approach. His hands behind his back, he stood up a little straighter, attempting to speak in a regal way.

“ _Mae govannen, hiril nin [Well met, my lady]_.”

“ _Mae govannen_.” She whispered it, biting her lip in a very un-ladylike way.

“Legolas, go show Eyela the Queen’s Gardens, won’t you?” Queen Anona smiled, stroking her son’s head gently, before nudging him towards the young elleth once more.

Legolas looked up at his mother with a small smile before extending his hand to her. “Come. It is not far from here.”

Eyela felt her face grow warm. “Very well.”

She followed him through the trees, into the mosaic of beautiful blues, pinks and purples. Enchanted, she reached up and touched a nearby candle bud, letting its light dance in the air, in her hair. She beamed at Legolas.

“It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“Why are you sad?” Legolas’s response was not what she had expected.

She looked away, letting her hand drop to her side. “My elder sister was killed in an Orc attack recently. I am grieving, that’s all.”

He did an unexpected thing then. He reached up into the lush flowers, plucking one from its stem. “Do not be sad, Lady Eyela,” he said, tucking it behind her ear. “There is love, truth, and beauty all around you.”

She let a single tear fall onto his waiting finger, her face heating even further as he brushed it away.

He gazed at her with warmth sparkling in his eyes. “All you must do is look.”

 

[End Flashback]

 

Eyela thought of staying awake, for him. Her eyes almost opened, almost saw the light, the pain in Elrond’s eyes, and the tears in Arwen’s. _There is love, truth, and beauty all around you._

But she couldn’t see it. Not anymore.

And so the world faded back into blackness.

 

* * *

 

 

He smelled them before he saw them.

Traveling in the least graceful manner possible, the pack made their way to a house on the eastern side of the Town, Legolas and Tauriel following closely behind. The girl—Legolas knew she was the one who had screamed—was pulling the door tightly, screaming at the top of her voice, attempting to keep the invaders at bay. From his side, Legolas heard Tauriel suck in her breath sharply.

He knew who she was looking for… _him._ The thought made him want to vomit, and the thought of their kiss emerged in his mind like hot blade cleaving through a block of ice. He shook his head, banishing all thoughts of her. _Focus._

Tauriel took the entrance, leaving him on the roof, contemplating. Finally, he decided to enter through the roof—or perhaps it was more of forced decision, as the weak wood broke beneath his feet. He landed like a cat on the center of a table, eyes raking the scene before him.

The house was a mess. Shards of broken porcelain scattered among the splintered floorboards. Two human children crouched under a table, and one of them was attempting to throw the table over two Orcs. The little human girl screamed, hurling a plate—only to have it immediately bounce off the Orcs breastplate. These were no soldiers.

Legolas sent an arrow through the creature, whipping out his blades soon after, whirling, slashing and stabbing where he could. A cry caused him to whip around. _Tauriel._

Upon doing so, he realized that the cry had in fact been one of rage. Without even knowing it, he let out a breath of relief, his knife involuntarily going into the neck of an Orc. His eyes flickered to the two approaching him from either side, wishing to corner him. His panic gone, he simply reached up, stabbing both of them simultaneously, whacking another with the tip of his bow.

 

* * *

 

 

Tauriel blanched.

He had saved her life, in return for the action in Mirkwood. Now, Kili lay before her, twisted in agony, the screams from his mouth only mirrored by the sound of her heart in her chest at seeing him like that. How could the poison have worked so quickly?

She forgot about the Orcs, forgot about the fact that she had recently kissed the ellon she had been assigned to protect, forgot that in her concern for Kili, she was leaving Legolas to finish off the Orcs on his own. Her hair spilled across her back as she reached towards him, only to be shoved aside by two other dwarves; they carried him to the table.

Tauriel hovered around him, attempting to catch a glimpse of what they had been using to heal him. This was until she heard the voice behind her:

“You killed them all.”

It was the human boy. He was looking at the table that his sisters hid under in awe, then up at Legolas—who had come up after scouting the balcony, it seemed. The Prince hardly looked at him.

“There are others. Tauriel, come.”

His voice was gentle when he said it, and he continued to the door, only stopping when he realized that she wasn’t following. He froze in the doorway, all emotion leaving his eyes.

Tauriel couldn’t move. Her feet seemed to be glued to the spot beside him, beside Kili. Her eyes flickered back and forth, between the prince who could never love her, and the dwarf whom she had to save. She attempted to plead with Legolas with her eyes, hoping he would see the severity of the situation.

_I can heal him. I can save him. Please._

He seemed to understand. And she could only watch in horror as his mouth thinned into a fine line, indicating his anger. She could see why: had she not kissed him? Had he not left everything for her?

“Tauriel. Come.” His voice was flat, carrying only cold authority, something she had not heard him address her with in a very long time. It was an order, one a Prince would give to his Captain. Nothing more. Nothing less.

When she did not—could not—move, the pools in his eyes broke open. “Tauriel.” With that, he left.

She looked back at Kili, who was gazing at her with dropping lids. Her jaw set. Decision made, she jogged to the door after Legolas. The figure at the door was the least she’d expected to see: another dwarf. And in his hands… _athelas._

Kingsfoil: the very first herb her mother had taught her how to use. It was used in almost all elvish healing methods; its uses were many, and it was quite valuable. Its scent flooded her nostrils, filling her with a new energy.

“Athelas,” she whispered, taking it from him, ignoring his bewildered expression. She stroked the pungent-smelling leaves. “Athelas, athlelas.”

“What are you doing?”

She looked up at him with hope alight in her eyes. “I’m going to save him.”

 

* * *

 

 

Legolas ignored everything: the pain in his chest, the image of her pleading eyes, the Orcs that came at him. In a blind, black rage, he used all his arrows, making any Orc who dared come near him regret it. The combat took his mind off of everything; he found himself enjoying being reckless.

Some he took on with his bare hands, something he had never done before—his father would have growled upon seeing his son so careless, so impulsive. Thranduil had often told Legolas not to let his emotions rule his head, to think of a strategy before throwing oneself into battle. At this point, the Prince could not care less.

 _How could she?_ The thought sprung into his mind, as, with one clean slash, he decapitated another foul creature. And for a _dwarf_ —the thought sent another arrow into the eyes of a screaming Orc.

He leapt onto the bridge, onto boats. Whenever he could find something to kill, he did it. He had not, like Tauriel, forgotten what brought them to Lake Town in the first place.

Legolas’s chest flooded with new energy. He glanced about him, searching for another opponent. He lightly ran across another bridge, making his way past a fisherman’s outpost.

In the alley, waiting for him, was exactly what he desired. But he knew this Orc. The white milky eyes, scarred lips, and brutish body seemed very familiar to him. His eyes narrowed into slits, and he drew the sword of his people—the one the dwarf had dared to call a gift, no less. _Bolg._

The Orc seemed to think the same thing as he approached, his own weapon tight in his fist. They swung in unison, their blades raising sparks, the impact shaking the ground beneath them.

Bolg had sent others after him. _Coward_ , Legolas thought, inwardly sneering as his blade quickly made prey of the extra Orcs around him. He did not miss a beat, and when Bolg made his second attack, Legolas was ready.

They grappled with their blades, until one of Legolas’s attacks landed under Bolg’s arm. The foul creature quickly took advantage of the juvenile mistake, pulling until Legolas lost his footing, and tumbled, in a very ungraceful way, to the moist wood.

Legolas saw nothing other than stars for a moment as Bolg threw him against the wall, once, twice. Quickly regaining his composure, he took to pummeling his opponent against the wall in turn, slamming his head into a pole until the wood splintered and cracked.

Bolg, apparently having had enough, took Legolas in a death grip, crushing him against his chest. Legolas’s heart froze in his chest, his lungs clawing for oxygen. He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to think clearly. _What to do…_

He slammed his head in Bolg, letting the creature buck back before slashing him across the chest with his knife, only to be punched in the nose. Ignoring the faint stinging sensation, he was thrown into more of the things that had been watching off to the side. Angered by the way in which he had fought, Legolas made sure the deaths of the five Orcs almost remedied his thirst for revenge. Almost.

Bolg had fled; he clearly had work to do in the mountain. But Legolas was hurt and disoriented, and, leaning against a pole for support, was suddenly aware of the sharp pain in his nose. He touched it gingerly, and the sight of his own blood on his fingers was sobering, to say the least. He had never been defeated in battle, much less bled before.

He narrowed his eyes, vowing revenge on the disgusting spawn of Azog the Defiler. Tightening his hands into fists, he mounted a white steed, spurring the horse to a gallop. And in his anger, he very nearly forgot the fiery-haired elleth that was healing the dwarf behind him.

But not quite.

 

* * *

 

 

Tauriel poked and prodded at Kili’s leg, muttering some soothing Elvish that she very well knew he could not understand. She removed the arrow with a cruel twist, choosing to ignore the heart-wrenching wail that came from her patient.

Her breaths even and calm, she accepted the bowl of Athelas that was offered to her. “Hold him down.”

They looked up with apprehension, and her heart nearly stopped in her chest upon seeing how the wound had spread. The ghastly blue-black color turned her stomach, and she very nearly looked away from the pitiful sight. Heart fluttering, she managed to take a handful of the fragrant herb, and began to rub it into the leg.

He screamed, and it shattered her heart. Fighting back tears, she managed, “ _Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin; hon leitho o-ngurth [What grace has given me, let it pass to him; let him be spared]_.” It was an ancient Elvish incantation, a spell of healing.

She accepted the cloth from one of the children, pulling it tight around his leg. She could feel the unspoken question lingering in the air as his kin backed off to give them some privacy: _Why would an elf save a dwarf?_ He had saved her in many ways, on the night of the Feast of Starlight. She was fond of him. Of this, there was no doubt in her mind, or in her eyes, when she looked down upon his sleepy face with affection.

“Tauriel?”

“Lie still,” she said firmly, although the smile was still spread across her face.

“You cannot be her,” the fevered Kili murmured. “She is far away…”

Her eyes widened.

“She is far, far away from me…she walks in starlight in another world. Do you think,” his voice cracked. “Do you think she could have loved me?”

 _Love?_ Her breath caught in her throat, surprised and—against her better judgment— slightly pleased.

She could not explain why she did not move away, when his fingers brushed hers. And, more importantly, why, when she thought of the crown prince, the thought disappeared almost immediately. For Legolas could not love her. Legolas could never be hers.

But with Kili…there lay possibility. The future was unspoken, and she was terribly fond of him. By his recklessness, his ability to make her smile and laugh after knowing her for only a short period of time, his soulful brown eyes.

Perhaps that was why she did not pull away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was very hard to write, and hopefully the right emotions came through. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts! ^.^
> 
> Next chapter, we'll be visiting the Woodland Realm for a final time before the war. Yes, war is coming! And we'll continue Legolas and Tauriel's story :)


	9. 9: Some Will Heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a filler. Nevertheless, it has some action and a flashback, for good measure! Let me know what you think :)

**Chapter 9**

 

Legolas tugged the reins, urging the horse to a halt.

“Easy, _mellon [friend]_ ,” he whispered. The reek of Orcs almost made it impossible to think. His eyes watered, but managing to hold back a very un-princely grimace, he slid off of the steed.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness. Taking in his surroundings, the prince crept behind a mass of rock, his ears straining to hear the footsteps of his enemy. They came as planned, heavy and…wounded, much to Legolas’s pleasure. He had drawn some blood from Bolg after all.

Smiling slightly, he crouched down, eyes raking the landscape to find his enemy. Bolg seemed to be conversing with another Orc, and when the moonlight hit him, Legolas paled.

 _Azog_.He felt his blood boil. The disgusting demon that had kidnapped his mother and tortured her.

Clenching his jaw, he inched forward. Despite his sharp elven hearing, he wanted to fully understand and catch every word in their foul conversation. Their voices scraped at his ears:

“…The King’s son. They attacked us in Lake Town.”

“And you killed them?” Legolas could detect the threat behind Azog’s words.

“They...they ran away, screaming like cowards.” Bolg looked away, clearly concerned about the punishment his father was about to inflict.

Legolas’s smile widened at Azog’s next words. “They will come after us, with an army of elves at their back! Go to Gundabad—“

The rest of the conversation was of no interest to him. He had gotten what he came for. Mounting the white steed once again, the prince spurred her to a gallop. Fixed his gaze on the distance, where fire was meeting water and wood.

However, it was not to the elleth he had left behind that his thoughts went as he rose towards the lake once more. It was to the Orc he had challenged when he had been in rage. And to his minions in Gundabad, who had paid a very special visit to the Woodland Realm once before in Legolas’s life.

 

[Flashback]

 

“My Lord Thranduil.” A sentry guard was approaching the gate with quick, long strides. Legolas took note of his hurried movements, his wide eyes. _Something big has happened._

“Yes?” If anything, his father was as confused as Legolas. Thranduil’s gaze briefly flickered to his son, standing at the base of the throne, before turning his attention back to the panicking guard. “Has something happened?”

“There are Orcs at our gate. They request to see you at once.”

Legolas bit back a gasp. He narrowed his eyes, answering before his father could. “Orcs do not have scouts, or message bringers. They do not speak with kings so much as they decapitate them.”

Thranduil descended the throne in graceful, fluid motion, the slight nod of his head an indication that he had heard his son. “Why have the guards not disposed of the foul creatures yet?”

The guard finally met the icy King’s eyes, and spoke in a shaking voice. “They have the Queen and Princess, my Lord.”

The world tilted on its axis for a moment. Legolas braced himself against a step on the throne, his hands shaking. Memories of blood flooded his mind; blood everywhere, staining the floor, on his hands, black mixing with red. The floor seemed to wobble beneath his feet.

Suddenly, he was vaguely aware of a hand on his shoulder. The prince attempted to regain control of his breathing as he looked up into the emotionless eyes of his father. He was almost tempted to pull away from Thranduil’s hand—this was one of the only times he had touched him since the accident. Instead, he gave a grateful nod. Covered the hand with his own, before steeling his nerves.

The King turned back to the sentry, who had been observing them from a distance. “We will meet them at the gate. They will not enter our kingdom.”

Perhaps it was only his son, only Legolas, who could see clearly through the façade of power his father was bringing up. He could see the pain in his father’s eyes, the deep, old pain that had been festering since the day of the accident. He could see self-loathing, for not being present to protect his wife and children from the very creatures he was going to meet.

“Legolas.” Thranduil turned to him. They had reached the bridge that lead out of the Woodland Realm and to the gates. “You will stay here.”

“No.” It was the only time for him to say this, and Thranduil’s eyes widened slightly. But Legolas refused to be obedient today. Not today.

“Legolas,” his father used a little more force in his voice. “You cannot see this.”

“I can, and I will.” Legolas met his father’s gaze unflinchingly. “I will not hide. Not today, father.”

Thranduil’s eyes softened, if only at seeing his son as stubborn as he was in his youth. “Fine.”

It was not what Legolas had expected. But then, neither was the sight that awaited him outside of the gate.

Blood. Just as it had been on the day of the accident, blood spilled onto the ground, staining the white tiles red. Legolas sucked in his breath, his stomach roiling at the sheer quantity of it. Beside him, he could almost feel his father stiffen.

“Ah, dear King of the Woodland Realm. How kind of you to grace us with your company.” Legolas flinched as the harsh words scraped against his ears. “Would you like to see your wife?”

Thranduil’s eyes widened, but his voice remained calm. “Where did you keep her all these years?”

“The baby went to Dol Gulder, but with our master’s assistance, she remained hidden from your sight. Here she is now.” The pale Orc who had spoken, took the child from one of his minions.

Tears filled Legolas’s eyes at the sight of how much Kelda had grown over the years. Her caramel hair that had only been wisps when he saw her last, had grown into a luxurious mass of waves and curls, ratted by her years of not brushing it. Her eyes, dark blue like his mother’s stared up at them with only an unspoken pain. Thranduil nearly tore her away from the creature, scooping her up in his arms, murmuring comforting words before handing her down to Legolas.

Legolas let her rest her head against his shoulder. “ _Honeg [brother]_ ,” she whispered, her voice cracked and broken.

“Yes,” he murmured.

The pale Orc spoke once more. “We injected her with a slow-killing poison, to punish your dear wife for not telling us much of your whereabouts. She is very resilient, King Thranduil.”

“Give her to me.” Thranduil’s voice finally rattled, giving away his true anguish. “Give her to me now.”

Legolas’s vision went white as she was dropped at their feet. He could only see the bruises, decorating her face beyond recognition, the blood seeping from her mouth onto the marble, the whip lashes across her back, the metal cuffs around her wrists—

 

[End Flashback]

 

Legolas’s attention was drawn away from the painful past and to the present. To the flames licking the tops of buildings and homes, and to the screams of the dying that echoed across the ravaged town on the lake. He dismounted quickly, surveying the damage from a safe beach nearby.

His first thought was of Tauriel, of riding back to the town under the siege of a dragon and saving her. His second thought was of the dwarf; the one Tauriel had stayed to heal. His third and final thought, his decision, was to stay until Tauriel brought the dwarves and human children across, as he knew she would.

He turned away from the carnage with a bitter chuckle. _She will make sure to bring them all back alive, if I know her well. But perhaps I cannot be sure of that either. Perhaps she is not the Tauriel of old._

 

* * *

 

Tauriel flinched as another roar ripped through the landscape, tearing at her eardrums. The dwarves besides her started, their worried gazes on Kili. Thinking quickly, she barked orders to the others as she made for the exit.

“Get him up,” she snapped at the dwarves. Her eyes found the human children. “Come, we must hurry.”

“Not without our father,” the son—Bain was his name—said. Tauriel could not have imagined she’d have found a human with the same spirit as Legolas. _Legolas._

Her heart sank into her boots. “If you do not leave here, your sisters will _die_.” She met his fiery gaze with an equal one. “Is that what your father would want?”

“I can manage. I’m fine.” She heard Kili snap from where he had been resting in a chair. Their eyes met for a mere moment, before she guided the children out, towards an empty boat.

Lake Town was in full panic. The Master had his men rowing a gigantic boat full of wealth and treasure. Some men and women were in the lake, swimming for their lives, while others grappled their way to family boats. As Tauriel watched, a man caught on fire, and, screaming, he fell into the lake with a splash.

She could feel Kili’s eyes on her, and chose to ignore them. There would be plenty of time to talk once they reached the safer shore. Even as the thought crossed her mind, a flaming chunk of roof hurtled from the sky, landing inches away from them. _We will talk later._

Her attention then caught the children’s screams. “Da! DA!”

There was a click, and then a roar. And the dragon Smaug swooped overhead. Tauriel sucked in her breath, despite herself, watching the red hide sail past.

Bain looked around at the others. “He hit the dragon with that arrow. I saw it!”

“No,” she said, her eyes full of pity. “A dragon’s hide cannot be pierced by arrows. I fear nothing will.”

Bain responded by leaping from the boat, over to another, where they could see him rummaging. He did not look back as he headed for the watch tower where is father was.

“ _Bain_!” Tilda yelled, and before long, her sister Sigrid had joined as well. “What are you doing? Bain! BAIN!”

Tauriel bit her lip, steeling her nerves. “We cannot go back for him. We must continue.”

Just as they were a ways from the lake, Tauriel heard an ear-shattering roar. They all turned, and, in perfect unison, gasped at what they saw. Gasped at the sight of the dragon, blotting out the moon and stars, twisting.

And, as they watched, Smaug twisted and turned in a beautiful death dance, until all was silent.

 

* * *

 

“I want to come with you.”

Thranduil turned away from Dalyor to see his wife, who had approached the gate silently for the farewell. He waved his hand, sending the guard away in order to speak with his beloved.

“You know you cannot.” He responded to her previous statement, closing the distance between them in a single stride. “You are not yet well enough, and Kelda needs you here.”

“You will see my jewels reclaimed?”

He stroked her cheek. “I will not return without them.”

“And Legolas?”

He stiffened. “I shall speak to him the moment we reach Erebor.”

His wife looked away for a moment, her eyes full of an understanding, one he did not possess. “He may not leave her, Thranduil. Despite everything, despite her feelings for the dwarf, he may not abandon her when she needs him. He has never done that, to us or to her.”

His eyes widened. “You think he loves her.”

“I know he loves her.”

Thranduil felt his anger coming back and pulled away. “How can we speak of such things, after promising Eyela his hand in marriage—“

“Do you really believe Eyela is completely ignorant of Legolas’s feelings?” Anona shot back. “There can only be one reason for her fading. And why, may I ask, are you so against our son finding happiness with a Silvan elf? Am I not a Silvan elf?”

He turned away now, the anger inside him dissipating, transforming into pain and sadness. He could not possibly tell her why. _I do not want him to know love, only to have it ripped away from him._

Before he could respond, however, Elrond’s voice rang our across the bridge. “Thranduil, we bring news.”

“What news?” Thranduil looked up at one of his oldest friends, only to see the tears sparkling in his eyes. “Elrond—“

“It is Eyela,” the Lord of Rivendell started.

Just then, Kelda came running in, clutching her skirts. Her eyes landed on her father, then travelled to Lord Elrond, then back again. “Have you heard about Lady Eyela?”

“What about her?”

“She is dead.”


	10. 10: Banished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was very hard to write, and I know it has some mistakes in it. I promise I will go back and edit it later. I truly hope you enjoy! :)

**Chapter 10**

 

 

They had reached the shore.

There were others that had not been so lucky. Tauriel noted the absence of many husbands and wives and children. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of a woman on the ground, clutching her moaning husband’s hand, sobbing. She chose to look away. _I have never seen such death and destruction._

Another absence was equally noted: Legolas. Her heart panged with the memory of her staying and him going, so she chose to shove it beneath her concern for the human children. At the moment, they were scouring the wreckage of bodies and broken boats, shouting.

“Da!” Sigrid clutched Tilda’s hand tightly as they walked. “Da!”

“ _Da!_ ” Tilda screamed, and Tauriel cut her off with a gentle hand on the shoulder and a nudge forward.

She knew what it was like to search carnage for a sign of life, for any sign of a loved one. Young though she was, there had been many Orc and spider attacks on the Realm in Tauriel’s lifetime. She had done the same for her mother, after they were attacked, all those years ago. And so, she could not stop these children, who wanted nothing more than their father’s comfort.

She allowed them to search on their own, for the time being. Her eyes flickered to the dwarves, who were not pulling their boat onto shore, but pushing away from it. Kili’s eyes found hers. She let out a breath as he approached.

“Tauriel.”

Before he could say anymore, Fili’s voice came from the lake. “Kili! Come on, we’re leaving.”

She looked down, hiding how much she wished for him to stay. Did she want him to stay? The thought terrified her, so she murmured, “They are your people. You must go.”

She could not have predicted his next words, though she could not deny that they pleased her. “Come with me. I know how I feel, and I’m not afraid.” He smiled. “You make me feel alive.”

 _Alive?_ Her heart leapt. She had greatly wished for him to say that. She wanted nothing more than to return the sentiment, to tell the dwarf whom she could not love that he had healed her from an unspeakable pain. He made _her_ feel alive as well.

Instead, she turned away. “I can’t.”

He caught her arm. “Tauriel.” And then…he said the words she could not say, with passion. With feel. _I love you._

Her eyes widened. She found herself backing away, shaking her head. “I do not know what that means.”

His smile lit up his whole face now. “I think you do.”

She started to smile too. Started to turn towards him, to say it back to him with as much passion, with as much feel. _I want to come with you._ But she froze.

What was it that told her he was there? Was it a change in the breeze, a slight snap of the stones beneath his feet? Either way, she straightened upon the thought. Her hands shook. Her voice very nearly quavered.

“ _Ernil Legolas_.”

Tauriel spoke to him with a formality she had not used since they had first met—she owed him as much after her blatant disobedience. She could not see him, and when he spoke, it was as though he had slapped her across the face.

Legolas spoke in cold, emotionless, flat tones, careful that the dwarf would not understand the clear order. He spoke the way he may speak to a guard, or to a sentry at the gate. After all, it was she who had addressed him as a sentry or a servant might, and not as a friend. Still, it stung.

“Take your leave of the dwarf.” His voice was a knife through the heart. “You are needed elsewhere.”

She attempted to plead with Kili with her eyes. Tried to convey the severity of the situation through a glance. He seemed to understand, though she did not miss his pointed glare towards the crown prince. The very crown prince she had ignored and disobeyed.

 _And yet,_ Tauriel’s thoughts wandered as she watched Kili turn away. _Legolas came back for me. He did not leave me, as he should have._

The thought disappeared almost instantly as Kili turned back. He took her hand, sending electric shocks through her body to the core of her heart. She had not experienced such emotions since she had kissed Legolas on the roof. He pressed something cold into her hand.

“Keep it,” he said. “As a promise.”

With that, the dwarf who had healed her joined his kin in the boat. Their eyes met one last time before she tore her gaze away to the object in her hand. Her eyes softened at the sight. _My mother gave it to me so I’d remember my promise: that I’d come back to her._

Tears prickled her eyes. What was this feeling? What was this sudden awakening, as if rising from a deep fog? _Is this love?_

Tauriel ripped her eyes away from the departing boat, back to Legolas. He had already continued towards the people. Towards the sun that was emerging through the grey clouds, lighting the grass and the grieving people beneath it.

And so the young she-elf took one more moment to look behind her, to swallow her tears before following her prince.

_Keep it as promise._

 

* * *

 

 

Legolas had had enough.

He had come back for her. He had not left her to fend for herself after the dwarves had pursued their kin in the mountain. In fact, he had questioned his leaving her behind entirely, at a certain point. He had searched for her, after the survivors had arrived. And upon finding her—with the dwarf Kili, no less—he had realized exactly why he had left her. 

The prince shook his head. He needed to think clearly, to find the leader of these humans and report back to his father. To find Eyela and tell her that he was all right—she must have been very worried. Suddenly, he was very aware of the absence of the ring on his right index finger. It must have fallen off during his tussle with Bolg. It was sobering to him, and he raised his head to meet the sights before him.

“DA!”

“Come here!”

Legolas’s head whipped towards the source of the noise. _Of course_ , he thought, smiling slightly as he watched Bard the Bowman pick up his youngest daughter and embrace his eldest. _This is the dragon slayer._

He watched the interaction between the humans, the men and women of the lake, who had lost everything. He watched them attempt to kill one of the Master’s servants. Watched them cheer for the man who had saved them all. Bard commenced to assigning roles to everyone, taking up his position as a leader in a humble and generous way. As Legolas watched, the Bowman instructed his people to take only what they need, to leave everything else behind.

“Where will you go?” He asked as Bard passed.

He froze for a moment before continuing. “There is only one place.”

Legolas’s eyes landed on the peak. Something akin to dread crawled in his stomach.

The man the others had tried to murder was speaking to Bard. “…your bit of gold.”

“We will take only what we need,” Bard snapped, tossing weapons and wood into the arms of the man. “Only what we need to rebuild our lives.”

“News of the death of Smaug will have spread through the lands,” Legolas said, walking after him. “Others will now look to the mountain. For its wealth, for its position.”

Bard’s eyes narrowed. “What it is you know?”

“Nothing for certain. It’s what I fear may come.”

The man nodded, and Legolas could see that he was wise. He was not like other men, subject to greed and anger. _This will serve him well_ , the prince thought, watching him join his children.

He was turning to go back to his horse when she finally caught up with him. “You saw something out there,” Tauriel said.

He ignored the jolt in his chest upon seeing her unharmed and continued forward, talking as he went. “The Orc I pursued out of Lake Town; I know who he is. Bolg,” he spat the name out. “Spawn of Azog the Defiler. The Warg pack was waiting for them on the outskirts of Esgaroth. They fled into the North.”

They had reached a clearing in the trees, where the others were gathering their things. Legolas’s eyes found his horse, and they changed directions.

He continued, “These Orcs were different from the others. They bore a mark I have not seen for a long time. The mark of Gundabad.”

Tauriel’s eyes widened, both at his tone and at the unfamiliar name. He realized she must not know of where he spoke. “Gundabad?”

“An Orc stronghold in the far North of the Misty Mountains.” He nodded his head to her, motioning for her to help a woman who was struggling with some wood. She obliged, and before he could follow, a familiar voice stopped him.

“ _Ernil Legolas_.” It was Dalyor, dressed in travelling robes. Legolas raised an eyebrow.

Dalyor’s eyes flickered to Tauriel. After making sure that she was busy, he leaned forward on his horse. “Lady Eyela is dead, Legolas.”

“Dead?” Legolas felt as though a thousand knives had stabbed him. _No_ , he thought. _This pain is much more than that._ Against his better judgment, a question escaped his lips. “How?”

“She faded away, not long after you left. I—“ His friend stopped, and, from his face— slowly fading back to a soldier, not a friend—Legolas knew that Tauriel was behind him.

Dalyor straightened on his horse. “I bring word from your father,” he said. “You are to return to him immediately.”

Legolas forced his face to mold into an impassive expression. He knew why his father was summoning him. He started forward, eyes fixed upon the grass. “ _Tolo, Tauriel [Come, Tauriel]_.”

“ _Ernil_.” Dalyor’s voice carried a warning tone. “Tauriel is banished.”

“Banished?” Legolas’s brows furrowed, and he heard Tauriel suck in her breath behind him. “You may tell my father: if there no place for Tauriel, there is no place for me.”

Dalyor narrowed his eyes at the two of them before turning his horse away. Behind him, Legolas heard her whisper, “Legolas, it is your King’s command.”

Several things were clear to him now; Eyela’s jealousy of Tauriel, and her intense reaction at seeing him chasing after her; her death, caused by a broken heart, one of the only mortal things that could kill an elf; and finally, the reason for her death: him. He loved Tauriel, but he had tried to make Eyela happy. There was no doubt in either fact, and Eyela had died for his folly. He could ignore his feelings no longer, lest they cause someone else their life. But he would not act on them. _This is entirely my fault._

He turned to her. “Yes, he is my King. But he does not command my heart.” _He tried to, and look what happened._

He did not see her reaction, nor did he want to. “I ride north. Will you come with me?”

“To where?”

“To Gundabad.”

As they mounted the white steed and galloped from the wreckage, Legolas could only think of one thing.

 _Eyela._ He had tried to save her. He had wanted nothing more than her happiness. He had not gotten engaged for his father, or for his status or for his crown. His own strange love for Eyela— as a friend, as an elleth who had seen too much sadness—had motivated him to do so, even if he knew he could never love her as she did him. And so, he had failed in the endless masquerade.

Did he not know what it was like, to love someone who could never love you back, to want to hold them, to protect them, to let them understand your endless love and compassion for them? Did he not know jealousy? He knew what loving someone was like; he felt the same emotions each and every day with Tauriel. If he had known what she was going through when he tried to love her, why did he do it? This was the question swirling in the young prince’s head. _Why?_

He could not love Tauriel now. And even if he did, he could not act on his feelings now, whether they were mutual or not. Not after this poisoned love had destroyed someone he had deeply cared for. Not after Eyela. Legolas’s hands tightened on the reins, his unshed tears tightening his chest so that he could barely breathe.

_I killed her._

_I killed her._

Eyela: her face, pale, but flushed when she was joyous. Her kisses that tasted of lavender and snow; her love for him, so deep that it had killed her, and he was entirely at fault. Her eyes as he had left, filled with tears from a pain so deep he could not place it in his own worry for another. He could not place her pain it until now.

Now, when it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadness! I'm so sorry, but I promise this chapter carries the majority of Eyela's legacy and Legolas's really awful reaction to it. But in character, I think that would have been Legolas's first reaction to the death of someone who he cared for, and who loved him very much. Eventually, he will have another reaction to Eyela's death. But it had to be done. 
> 
> That being said, what did you think?
> 
> Next chapter, we'll be in Gundabad with the pair. War is upon us! We'll also see a little bit of Thranduil, so stay tuned for that :)


	11. 11: Gundabad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! I'm so, so sorry for the incredible wait that you all have endured. Thank you so much for being patient with me. I will say that due to the fact that it is exam season, everything has been crazy busy here. My updates may be more random and less scheduled like they were before. Thank you for understanding! :)

**Chapter 11**

 

When King Thranduil gazed upon the city of Dale, he felt nothing but anger.

He tugged the reins of his elk, urging him forward, very conscious of the army behind him. _The sun is deceptively beautiful on a day such as this_ , he observed, looking at the Lonely Mountain disdainfully. _It shines upon the dwarves that stole my wife’s jewels from me._

Legolas would not be here. He was reminded of this as he heard Dalyor giving orders to a nearby officer. He nearly scowled as he remembered the elleth that had tricked him into doing so, into leaving his rightful duty as the prince to go to Gundabad.

_“If there is no place for Tauriel, there is no place for me.”_

He would have laughed. He might have scoffed even, to hear such a ridiculous sentiment from the mouth of his sensible son. And yet, when Dalyor told him of it, he was in no way surprised. Perhaps it was because of Eyela.

She had not been ignorant of Legolas’s love for another, as he had thought—as he had hoped. In her dying moments, she had told Elrond to make sure that Legolas was aware of the painful fact that had killed her. He was, it seemed, in denial. Perhaps they were both in denial. Perhaps _he_ was in denial.

There was a part of Thranduil that wondered whether or not he wished to see his son. Never in his short life had Legolas disobeyed his father, much less follow another elf after a race that he had been trained to hate. The Elven King shook his head to clear it of these thoughts as he steered his steed into the crumbling city of Dale.

“Spread out,” he commanded his armies. “Cover every inch of this land. I want the best ranks by the bell tower and the elves carrying supplies to come with me.”

Even from afar, he could see the humans huddled together. Dressed in torn clothing and rags, they had wrapped themselves in blankets, making hammocks for the sick. It reminded all too much of the times his people had gone through after the death of Oropher. A spark of sympathy blossomed within the cold Elven King.

“Dalyor.”

“Yes, my Lord?” Dalyor galloped forward. His position as a Lieutenant was marked by his silver armor. The rest of the army was in gold.

“Set up the tents at the far end of the cliffs. The archers should be in position by morning, understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Dalyor tipped his head in respect before turning to the army, ready to give orders.

Sympathetic though he was towards the Men of the Lake, Thranduil had no compassion for what awaited him in the mountain. He had promised Anona her jewels, and they would be delivered to her. There could be no doubt of this in his mind.

His thoughts shifted to Tauriel. He had taken her under his wing after seeing her friendship with his son, after knowing that in Legolas’s darkest moments, he preferred to be with her. She was a marvelous warrior, and had flourished under the best trainers in the guard. She had been appointed to Captain at a very young age. Nevertheless, there was a fire that he had never been able to extinguish inside of young Tauriel, one that still burned within her today. He had never imagined what it would do, and whom it might put in danger. And he had no doubts of his punishment: banishing her from the Woodland Realm forever.

As he looked up, the first flecks of red were appearing on the horizon. Soon the red turned to a vibrant pink, framed by shades of purple and orange. The sun was rising. When Legolas was younger, he would sneak out of the palace to watch the sun rise. Thranduil could think of only this as the beginnings of dawn stained the horizon.

The courtyard was full of yellow light when he tore his eyes away. He urged his steed forward, spurring him to a canter as he entered the center of the city.

“My Lord Thranduil.” Bard the Bowman (‘The Dragonslayer”, thought the Elven King) approached him quickly, confusion mixing with fear in his eyes. “We did not look to see you here.”

The King of the Woodland Realm considered several responses before speaking. “I heard you needed aid.”

With his hand, he motioned for the elves to come out. They had brought wine and vegetables, along with steamed meat and plenty of water. As the large wagon rolled in, many of the men and women began to come out of hiding. Thranduil might have smiled at the look on their faces, shining with the light of gratefulness and wonder. Bard the Bowman gaped at the spread for a moment before turning back to the King.

“You have saved us,” he said, his voice shaking. “I do not know how to thank you.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced,” Thranduil said. “I did not come on your behalf. I came to reclaim something of mine.”

He moved to the side to allow his army to march forward. As ordered, they moved with grace and light step, marching towards the mountain. The attack was about to begin.

“Wait!” Bard’s voice came from behind him. “Please wait! You would go to war over a handful of gems?”

King Thranduil stiffened. “The heirlooms of my people are not lightly forsaken.” Each word carried a sting of pure venom. The human chose not to notice this.

“We are allies in this,” Bard said. “My people also have a claim upon the riches in that mountain. Let me speak with him.”

In the entire duration of the conversation thus far, Thranduil had not once looked at the human. Now, he turned his head ever so slightly. “You would try to reason with a dwarf?”

The idea was almost comical. Thranduil himself had tried on many occasions to reason with a dwarf. Before Legolas was born, he had tried to warn King Thror of what his greed would summon. His attempts had been in vain. He had entrusted the precious gems of his people, and the finest gold and silver with these wretched beings. He had paid them in full, and they had denied him the very gift he wished to share with his wife. Anona had been taken, and tortured beyond recognition, soon after. The Elven King would never forgive. He would never forget.

This is why he was not surprised when the Bowman galloped back from the mountain with a hardened gaze. “They will give us nothing.”

 _Has the dragon sickness affected you so much already, King under the Mountain?_ “Such a pity,” he said. “Still, you tried.”

“I don’t understand.” Bard shook his head. “Why? Why would he risk war?”

As they watched, the barricade of marble fell from the face of the mountain, crashing into the bridge below. The dwarves, it seemed, had meant what they said. Thranduil was almost smiling.

“It is pointless to reason with them,” he said lightly, drawing his sword, admiring the engravings in it. “They understand only one thing.” Then, with a more serious air about him, he sheathed the weapon. “We attack at dawn.”

He turned his elk around, spurring him to a light canter. “Are you with us?”

 

* * *

 

 

Legolas and Tauriel ran with great urgency, climbing the cliffs without trouble. They settled behind a large rock, somewhere where Legolas knew they would not be noticed.

Tauriel’s mind wandered. It flitted to Kili, who had given her the stone that now rested in a pouch in her weapons belt. She wished for his safety. She wished she knew what her heart was feeling when it fluttered and popped at the idea of the dwarf. If only her feelings were as clear to her as Kili’s were to him. It was a very confusing time.

Her mind wandered to the King, who would surely have head if Legolas were killed on this mission. It was her idea, and she knew that she deserved the punishment the King had ordered.

She glanced at Legolas who had gone strangely quiet. He had not spoken throughout the journey, other than telling her where they should hide, and helping her off the horse. He did not look at her even now, instead choosing to gaze at the large fortress in front of them.

“There!” She pointed at a flickering blaze in one of the many windows. “I saw a light.”

“We cannot attack now.” Legolas said, his voice carrying the same cold emotionless tone as it had at the lake. “We must wait for the cover of night.”

And they did, in a heavy silence. Finally, Tauriel could not stand it any longer. “Something is troubling you, Legolas.”

“You said the same thing on the roof, so many days ago.”

“It was an observation.” She felt helpless; he was so unreachable. “And I am making the same observation now. What is wrong, my friend?”

He stiffened as she said the word ‘friend’ as if she had slapped him. His stony expression grew stonier still. “Eyela is dead, Tauriel.”

“What?” Tauriel could not breathe. She could not move. The very air around her seemed to be choking her. “But she was fine when we left—“

“She was _not fine at all_.” Legolas hissed it to avoid raising his voice. “She died from a broken heart and I caused it. I killed her and she is dead because of me—“

“That is enough!” Tauriel snapped. “You did not do anything. If she died from a broken heart, it was her assumptions that lead to her death, not your actions. There was nothing you could have done.”

But even as she said it, she knew her words carried no truth. Legolas had followed her because he was worried about her. His conversation with the Lady Eyela before could not have been anything but unpleasant. It was her reckless actions that had led to this. Her stomach churned at the look of heartbreak on Legolas’s face.

“You loved her.” She said it without thinking.

“Not in the way she wanted me to.” His words surprised her. “She wanted me to love her in the way that I love—“ he choked off. Taking a deep breath, he spoke again, though this time it was breathless and very unlike him. “That dwarf—Kili—and you were speaking to each other at the lake.”

“Indeed we were.” Her hand reached towards the pouch that held the stone on its own accord.

“What did he say to you?”

“You heard him.”

“I want to hear it from you.” He did not respond to her statement, causing her to question whether or not he  _had_ heard what Kili had said.

He looked at her with intensity. This was a technique he had inherited from his father, and many times in her youth, Tauriel had stuttered and stammered under that very gaze. She was tempted to blurt, and fought the feeling viciously.

“It hardly matters,” she said, heat rising to her cheeks at the thought of Kili’s words to her. “What lies beyond this fortress?”

It was a pathetic attempt. Had it been any other day, Legolas might have pushed her some more. She was almost disappointed when he did not; instead, he reverted back to stone, turning his head away from her.

“The ancient Kingdom of Angmar,” he said, in response to her question. “It is a fell place, Tauriel. In another age, our people waged war against these lands.”

He looked away, as if remembering some kind of horrific memory. She glanced at him sideways, attempting to read past his mask. He lifted his eyes, and the icy blue met swirling hazel.

“My father was wounded there. The right side of his body and face were completely burned by the Serpents of the North.”

Tauriel recoiled, but he continued. “He does not speak of it. Only myself and Elrond knew of the accident, until now.”

She rested her hand on his knee, imagining that she was transferring her strength to him. He covered her pale hand with his own.

And they stayed that way, in blissful peace, until the shadow of night fell upon Gundabad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter had a heavy amount of Thranduil. I can say that the next chapter will be very much the same. What did you think of Tauriel's reaction to Eyela's death? Do you think Legolas knows about Kili?


	12. 12: The Retreat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little long... It provides a glimpse into Thranduil's thought process. It is definitely in desperate need of editing, and I will come back to it. I hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

**Chapter 12**

 

Thranduil should have known that Mithrandir would try something like this. As he was listening to the wizard talk, he could not help but glance at the Bowman, if only to make sure that he did not believe this madness. He turned back to Gandalf with a frown.

Mithrandir had helped him raise Legolas, after Anona’s accident. His son was very close to him. Somehow, this thought did not cross his mind as he listened to the wizard speak of Dol Gulder, and how the cesspits of it had been emptied. He spoke of danger. But Thranduil had only heard one phrase, and it rang in his ears.

“ _Set aside your pity grievances with the dwarves.”_

Bard the Bowman looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

Before Mithrandir could answer, Thranduil stood, his robes dragging across the floor of the elaborate tent. “I can see you know nothing of wizards. They are like winter thunder on a wild wind, rolling in from a distance, breaking heart in alarm.” He helped himself to a glass of wine, and handed one to Bard. “But sometimes,” he faced the wizard, “the storm is just a storm.”

“Not this time.” Gandalf said with feeling. “Armies of Orcs are on the move. These are _fighters_. They have been bred for war. Our enemy is summoning his full strength.”

He seemed to be frightening the human. Even Thranduil felt a small twinge of anxiety had the mention of Sauron, just as he had when the Orc filth had threatened his son. Under many layers of ornate robes, he clenched his fist.

“Why show his hand now?”

“Because we forced him! We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland.” Mithrandir left the tent, speaking as he went. “The dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor. Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the mountain. Not just,” he continued, “for where it lies, but its strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the North. If that foul kingdom should rise again—“

At that point, Thranduil had stopped listening. He had flinched at the mention of Azog the Defiler, despite himself, despite the fact that he knew his wife was safe in his kingdom once more. He could not believe that there were Orc armies waiting to take the mountain. He _would_ not.

So he sauntered back to his throne, pretending to be giving thought to the preposterous idea that was Mithrandir’s. Bard, meanwhile, put his glass down and went to find his children…his _children._

_Legolas. Kelda._

Thranduil felt something akin to a morgul blade piercing his chest at the mere thought of his son and daughter. Was he leading them to their deaths? Would his folly be their ending? As he let his head fall onto his hand, as he slumped slightly in his throne, his mind wandered.

 

[Flashback]

 

Thranduil was crying.

Tears poured down his cheeks as he watched her suffer in front of him. The coughs rang in his ears, the rattling in her chest of physical pain to him. And as he turned away, she grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his escape.

“Do not leave me.” Anona’s voice broke.

Their eyes met, his a shade lighter than hers. Blood trickled down her chin.

“I will never leave you.”

But he knew he needed to at that moment. He knew he needed to get away before he was destroyed. With one desperate glance at the fast working Healer Galu—who, at the moment, was helping her to drink a sleeping draft—he pulled his hand free. The King did not look back as he swept out.

Queen Anona’s healing process was taking longer than any of them had imagined. With the assistance of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, the scars marring her back and body were concealed. But she was ill, ill beyond even the Lord of Rivendell’s healing. Princess Kelda had very nearly recovered, save the Orc poison that now ran through her veins, killing her slowly.

Legolas had been kept from much of this—Thranduil had ensured that. He did not want the things that so often plagued his mind to be plaguing his son. His son, his only son and heir, the very being he valued over all else.

Nevertheless, Legolas had been plagued. The same darkness that hid under Thranduil’s eyes and in his heart was embedded in the Prince’s very soul. He did not smile anymore, save a few moments when he was with his friend Tauriel. He pushed others away, and was in the tenebrous forest more often than not, fighting spiders and Orcs. Thranduil wished to see him smile again.

“My Lord.” It was a guard, running to him. The panic etched in the lines on his face worried the Elven King. “Prince Legolas and the Guard went to one of the deeper parts of the forest. In their haste, they did not realize that this was too large a nest for them.”

Panic flared in the King. “Did you send reinforcements?”

“Yes, my Lord. They should be back momentarily.”

 _Momentarily is not fast enough._ Thranduil rushed down the halls of his realm. A thousand memories flashed before his eyes: Legolas shooting his bow for the first time, Legolas holding onto him when they heard the news, Legolas growing more and more distanced—

The gates opened with annoying delay; Thranduil found himself pacing up and down the bridge. The breath caught in his throat when he saw what was coming inside his kingdom.

Guards were dragging in survivors of the patrol. The King’s wide eyes raked the fallen elves, searching for his son. There was no sign of him. He felt as though he had been hit with a mace.

 _He’s dead. He’s really dead._ Shaking, Thranduil forced himself to make peace with the guards who were coming in. They relayed the size of the nest, approximately how many spiders there had been, and the survival rate. He listened with patience that was wearing thin.

“And what of Legolas?” He asked, clenching his fists into the folds of his robes. “What of my son?”

The lieutenant’s eyes widened. “He is—“

“Alive and well.” The voice he never thought he’d hear again sounded from behind him.

Legolas stood beaten and broken: his hands were bloody, his tunic was torn, and his hair was mussed. Cuts on his face were the only sign of physical distress. Other than that, he seemed almost bored. Behind him, Tauriel fussed with her broken bowstring.

“Legolas.” The name tore out of his throat, though not in the tone that he or the guards around him had intended. It was harsh, cutting through the air like a hot sword through ice.

This discordant and unreasonable tone did not fade. It continued as he did. “How could you have been so careless? It is your duty to sense and scout each and every nest and take the number of warriors you need.”

He could see Tauriel’s mouth open slightly in shock. Legolas did not move. “Forgive me, my Lord.”

“What is to be forgiven?” Thranduil could not think, could not breathe. The relief at seeing his son alive was exceeded by his anger at him for being so foolish. “You are a fool, Legolas! You cost the lives of many in your company.”

Only then did he stop, breathing heavily. Tauriel stepped forward. Thranduil did not miss the hand she placed on Legolas’s arm. “My Lord, I think you will find the folly to be mine, and not that of your son. It was I who suggested that we attack that nest.”

“I should have known.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, the King knew that he was being unnecessarily cruel, to both his son and his friend. That thought, however, was fleeting. “You will do well to remember that my son is the heir to the throne of Greenwood. His life is not disposable, as yours is—“

“ _Enough!_ ” Legolas shouted, startling both his father and Tauriel, whose eyes were now sparkling with tears. He turned to his father with fire burning in his gaze. “You will not inconvenience Tauriel with your temper, Father. She is not to blame. And _you_ would do well remember that I want nothing to do with inheriting this wretched throne, if it makes my temperament anything like yours. That is all.”

Without another word, Legolas grabbed Tauriel and pulled her around the corner. Their quick footsteps echoed down the corridor and faded; the Elven King remained where he was. The guards around him began to disperse, throwing confused and almost angry glances behind them.

The full weight of what he had said did not quite hit him until later, in his study. Through one of the windows, the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over his paperwork. A knock on the door startled Thranduil from his peaceful state.

“Enter.”

“My Lord Thranduil,” Dalyor said, stiffly bowing.

Thranduil put down the ancient scrolls. “Have you come to lecture me?”

“Not to lecture you, my Lord. Only to give you a different perspective.” His words were of no comfort to the King.

“Legolas is angry with me, is he not? I have hurt him.” He stared off into the distance, as if seeing his wife at the doorway, as she would so often be while he worked.

“Tauriel comforted him, my Lord.” Dalyor said. “They were sent to the infirmary. He is recovering well.”

“She has often been the one to comfort him after his mother…” he trailed off. “I was never good with words of comfort.”

“Legolas nearly died today.”

“I know it.” It was a whisper.

“And the guards who were sent after him know how frantic you were, how worried you were for your son.”

The Elven King looked up, as if awoken from a deep fog.

“But Legolas, my Lord.” Dalyor met his gaze with surprising defiance. “Legolas did not see your comfort. He saw only disappointment, only anger at him and his friend. That is all he has seen after his mother’s accident.”

“All?” Thranduil croaked.

“All.” Dalyor repeated. “He has only experienced your staggering tempers. Because you are angry at the world, you take it out on him. And yet, I see you every day, asking me how he fares.”

“What are you saying, Dalyor?”

There were few who could speak to the King in the manner that Dalyor had. But his relationship with his son and with the royal family made the ellon an exception to many of Thranduil’s rules of etiquette.

“Why does Legolas not see your concern for him? It would ease his sorrow to know that his father loves him.”

 _To know that his father loves him…_ Thranduil, without thinking, drew himself to his full height. Patting Dalyor on the shoulder, he swept out of the study and into the corridors, making great haste. The knock on Legolas’s door was received with a steely voice.

“ Forgive me, but I do not wish to see any elf at the moment.”

Thranduil sighed. “And will the Prince of the Realm receive his King?”

The door opened, to his surprise. Legolas stood in the doorway with his hair unbraided, without his bow and quiver. His arms were crossed over an embroidered tunic. “Yes, he will. What do you command me to do, my Lord?”

Thranduil flinched. “I merely wished to make sure you are recovering well after—“

His son did not allow him to finish. “Is that all? Yes, I am recovering very well, thank you my Lord.”

“Legolas,” he sighed. “You do not need to address me so.”

“Why are you here?”

“Forgive me for earlier.” The words sounded choked. “I did not…I was not…I am glad you are unharmed and alive. I was angry because I was worried.”

The Prince’s eyes softened. “You were worried?”

“I was.” He dared to look up, to see the soft smile spreading across his son’s features. “I am truly sorry, Legolas.”

“I forgive you. I only wish to please you, Father. To make you proud after…” They both knew of what he spoke.

“You make me prouder every day.”

 

[End Flashback]

 

The image of the two of them standing in the doorway of Legolas’s chambers had not yet faded from his mind, when he heard himself say, “We attack at dawn, as planned.”

“Since when has my counsel counted for so little?” Gandalf flew into a rage. “What do you think I’m trying to do?”

“I think you are trying to save your Dwarvish friends,” Thranduil replied honestly. “And I admire your loyalty to them. But it does not dissuade me from my cause.”

He rose, gazing down at Anona’s ring, which he wore on his left hand. “You started this, Mithrandir. You will forgive me if I finish it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Your father…” Tauriel seemed afraid to continue.

“My father?” Legolas’s eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Your father told me, back when the dwarves first arrived, to stay away from you.”

For a moment, Legolas said nothing. Then his fist went into the rock, a complete breach of etiquette for a prince and something that Tauriel had never seen. She reached towards him, afraid and fascinated by his rage.

“And my sister and Eyela,” he choked the name out, “told you the same thing, did they not?”

She was not going to lie. Not anymore. “They did.”

The question that came from his mouth next was not expected. “And you obeyed?”

“What?”

“You obeyed them…you distanced yourself from me.” Legolas met her gaze, and Tauriel was surprised to see tears sparkling in his eyes. He was close to her, she realized, very close.

“Legolas, your father is the King of the Realm and is my leader. Of course I obeyed him.” She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable by his closeness. “As for Eyela, she was your betrothed. I could not anger her.”

“The fact that my father told you to stay away meant that you provided him with the information to give such an order,” Legolas said. “What was it?”

She was shocked into silence. She found it almost comical that here, in Gundabad, near the gates of the devil; they were having the discussion that they should have days and days ago. On the eve of a battle in which they could both die, they chose now to convey their feelings to each other.

“Tauriel.” His voice was sharp, commanding. “What did you tell my father?”

“It was not what I told him but what he observed.” Tauriel said in as though the very sentence was suffocating her.

“Is that why you kissed me on the roof?”

“You needn’t worry,” she gasped. “About my kissing you on the roof, Legolas. It will not happen again.”

Truthfully, she did not know why she had suddenly kissed him. She knew they could not be together: she had found Kili, and he had found Eyela…until her death. And Eyela’s death was no mere coincidence—they both knew that.

Her heart was in a deep void. She knew Legolas. She had known him for many, many years, for centuries of their childhood and into their adulthood. She knew what angered him, what saddened him, and how he always seemed to put himself before others. He was eternally humble, and never seemed to demonstrate well-deserved arrogance. She had witnessed his special smile, the kind that he only displayed around her. She now knew that his kiss had tasted like pine in the forest air, and that his hands were softer than she could have imagined.

And Kili… Kili was different. She had known him for less than two days and yet she felt as though she had known him for an eternity. He had electrified her stone-cold heart, and she could not thank him enough for that. His smile was full of light, and his soulful brown eyes seemed to stare into her very soul. She knew now that he loved her. And she could not truthfully deny that she shared his feelings.

Legolas leaned forward, trying to read her gaze. “But you kissed me, which means—“

“It means nothing.” _Our position in your father’s society forbids us from pledging to each other. Do you not understand?_ She did not realize she had said it aloud until he responded:

“Tauriel, I am not afraid of my father—“

“Enough!” She snapped. Her hand rested on the cold stone in the pouch on her weapons belt. It felt smooth against her trembling fingers. “I do not have feelings for you anymore. Perhaps I did once. But now…” _Now I do not know anything anymore._

The hurt that flashed across his face was a knife to the heart. She almost considered telling him the truth behind her false words. She did not enjoy hurting Legolas, but she knew that her heart was lost and confused. He deserved better.

In a quiet voice, he said, “Now you love Kili?”

She was shocked to hear him say his name.  “Yes. I love Kili.” _Do I love him?_

Before she could reconsider that statement, darkness fell upon the rock, and they both looked up. “If we are going to move, we should do it now,” she said.

Swarms of bats descended, nearly upon them, and Tauriel stifled a yell. She bit her lip and pressed herself against the rock as Legolas had. They watched them fly towards the weapons fortress. Tauriel hissed:

“They are swarming.”

Just then, a war horn sounded. With bated breath, the two elves watched an Orc walk up a nearby cliff on his Warg. Beside her, Legolas drew in a sharp breath.

“We must warn the others,” Tauriel whispered, eyes widening as streams of Orcs left the fortress.

Legolas seemed to agree. “We may be too late. Hurry!”

* * *

 

 

Thranduil padded slowly through the mass of human bodies, his sword hanging uselessly at his side. His elk was long gone, struck down by the enemy upon entering Dale. His limbs carried an exhaustion that they had not for many years. The image of his son pressed against his heart.

Among the carnage of Orcs, Men, and Dwarves, he saw elves in golden armor, arrows piercing through their chest plates, axes stuck into their heads. Red blood that had not yet dried flowed across the snowy ground.  

The Elven King had lived through violence. He had lived through death. But this was too familiar, too much like the Last Alliance. Along with the bodies of the fallen, he saw his father, his lip split, his eyes extinguished of all their beautiful light. His vision swam for a moment. Vaguely, he heard Dalyor approach, no doubt to see where he was.

“Recall your company.”

 _I have spent enough Elvish blood in this accursed land._ The horn that followed gave Thranduil a small spark of pleasure, of hope.

_No more._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may ask why I included that flashback, instead of one from Legolas's memory or from Tauriel's. The reason is that I wanted the reader to get a glimpse into Thranduil's thought of Legolas and Tauriel, and so that you can really see that she's always been there for him, even when his father was not. I believe Thranduil to be a very good father, but I think that Anona's accident would emotionally strip him of his ability to connect with his son. 
> 
> I also am acknowledging Kiliel, because, if you've seen the movie, Tauriel openly says that she loves him. But fear not. Legolas and Tauriel still have a chance. You'll see :3
> 
> What do you guys think of this chapter? I'd love to know your thoughts!!


	13. 13: No Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you can guess (if you've seen the movie) what these next couple of scenes will be about. This is a very short chapter, but I promise the next ones will be longer and make up for it :) Enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains some more Kiliel than usual. Ugh. But it had to be done.

**Chapter 13**

 

Legolas urged their steed on. “Faster, _mellon_. We need to reach Dale.”

Behind him, Tauriel was silent. It was probably best that way, as her words would only have rubbed salt in his already aching wounds. Any other day, Legolas may have asked her what was troubling her, but since Eyela’s death, he found himself to be lost. He did not remember who he was before; he could not know who he was going to be.

_It will not happen again._

_Yes. I love Kili._

The stab to his heart that followed those thoughts caused him to suck in his breath. _How did it come to this?_

As they approached Dale, Legolas’s heart went into his throat. Thousands of Orcs streamed into the city, killing any innocent bystanders in their path. Behind them, the battle raged on. Legolas could discern Woodland Elves from their golden armor that caught the sunlight. Dwarves wore heavy grey armor, weaving through the battalions of Orcs. He could see Gandalf speaking to a Halfling on one of the many high bridges above the buildings of the city. He could not, however, see his father.

Thranduil would be furious with him—this he knew. He also knew why his father was here, and what he looked to achieve with this battle. He could also see the hundreds of fallen elves, littering the floors of the city. And not being able to see his father in such chaos caused an immediate flurry of panic within him.

Tauriel was firing arrows behind him; he took to doing the same. The horse kicked Orc scum out of their way, its hooves clicking rapidly on the cobblestone entrance of Dale.

“Gandalf!”

The Grey Wizard had been the first to be kind to him after Anona’s accident, and had told him many stories in his youth. This was not lost of Legolas; however, they had more important things to think about.

“Legolas.” Gandalf hurried to him. “Legolas Greenleaf.”

“There is a second army,” Legolas said without preamble. “Bolg leads a pack of Gundabad Orcs. They are almost upon us.”

“Gundabad?” Gandalf looked troubled. Then realization dawned in his eyes, along with something else that Legolas could not quite place. “This was their plan all along. Azog engages our forces, then Bolg seeps in from the North.”

“The North?” The Halfling on the ground looked around. “Where is the North, exactly?”

Gandalf looked almost sympathetic as he turned to his small friend. “Ravenhill.”

Legolas followed his gaze to the tower of Ravenhill, where Azog had certainly been lurking until recently. He looked down at the Hobbit, who seemed to be panicking:

“Ravenhill? Thorin is up there, and Fili and Kili, they’re _all_ up there.”

As much as it pained him, Legolas turned to see how Tauriel had reacted such news. He thought of how he might have reacted to such news regarding her, and poured water on the fire of jealousy within him. He prepared a speech in his mind. _We can go after them—_

The string of comforts and reassurances stopped dead in his mind. She was gone.

* * *

 

 

Tauriel rushed through the City of Dale. She was hardly aware of her movements; yet, as she ran, Orcs fell at her feet. In her mind was only one thought: _Kili_. She had not saved him, and given him her promise to let him die so easily.

Only when she was slightly aware of her surroundings, could she see the elves along with the Orcs on the ground. Her breath caught in her throat. Many of these had been members of the guard with her. She could recall their smiling faces vividly. And yet, when she looked again, their blood stained the tiles of the city. _Is this war? This death, this suffering…_

She almost understood King Thranduil’s hesitation to engage with the outside world now. Seeing her kin whose immortal lives had been cut short, she understood.

And yet, when she saw her King, approaching from the right with elves at his back, her anger blazed. _He is retreating? After all that they have been through? After all that they have lost?_

“You will go no further.”

He slashed another Orc out of the way before meeting her gaze. Tauriel did not tremble. “You will not turn away. Not this time.”

“Get out of my way.” He snapped.

“The dwarves will be slaughtered.”

“Yes,” he began to smirk, to smile. “They will die. Today, tomorrow, one year hence a hundred years from now—what does it matter? They are mortal.”

Before she could think, her bow was aimed, arrow pointed at the pale face of her King—of her former King. She remembered now that she was banished, that she would never again see the Woodland Realm. Therefore, her voice came without restraint.

“You think your life is worth more than theirs. But there’s no love in it. There’s no _love_ in you.” She spat out the words, and, if she had been aware, she would have seen the mask of a calm regal king fall from his face.

He looked down, and quickly moved his sword through the air before bringing forward to rest below her cheek. Her breath hitched. _I am not afraid of my father._

“What do you know of love?” His voice shook. “Nothing! What you feel for that dwarf is not real.”

 _Kili_. Was it real? The question she had been trying to push away had resurfaced at the strangest time: now, before the King. His statement seemed so firm, so absolute, when in her mind; her opinions were quite the opposite. It occurred to her that she _did_ love Kili, more than she had for any other, and it would not leave her.

“You think it is love?” Thranduil’s lips thinned. “Are you ready to die for it?”

She was not. Kili’s face appeared in her mind. He was happily smiling at her, as he had been on the night of the Feast of Starlight. She closed her eyes, preparing herself—

Suddenly, she could no longer feel the weight of the sword. Legolas’s hand came down fast, blocking her from his father’s sword.

“If you harm her,” every word was venomous. “You will have to _kill_ me.”

She watched, stunned, as they stared at each other for a brief moment. Then, Thranduil, the stony-faced Elven King that she had grown up with, looked away from his son in resignation. Tauriel thought she saw tears in his eyes. This, she recalled, was the first time that Legolas had seen his father since he came to get her.

“I will go with you,” Legolas said.

 

* * *

 

They ran up to the bridge of Ravenhill. Legolas did not look behind him to see if Tauriel was following. He did not need to, just as much as he did not need to ask if she was worried for Kili. He also did not need to ask himself why he had stood against his father and defended her, even when she was being rash and unreasonable. The answers were all too simple.

They were nearing the tower when the bats came. They swarmed the tower, their black pelts peppering the fog. Legolas’s jaw tightened. It seemed that Bolg’s army was closer than they thought.

Tauriel’s voice came from behind him, in a whisper. “No.”

Legolas had had enough. Spotting one of the bats, he willed it to fly lower, and, when it did, he took hold its legs. Tauriel’s face faded into the fog. Legolas shoved down the growing feeling of panic as her eyes disappeared from his sight. _I will see her again._

_Won’t I?_

 


	14. 14: The Battle of the Five Armies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely on my "to edit" list, but I thought I should get this chapter up for you all. Hopefully, the Mid-May mark will be the end of inconsistent updates, but right now, it is exam season and is very difficult for me to find time to write. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this chapter!! Be sure to read the A/N at the end of this chapter!

**Chapter 14**

 

Tauriel sprinted across the bridge after Legolas. It wasn’t long before she saw him disappear into the milky fog, still clinging to the bat’s hind legs. The last thing she saw was ice blue fading into the distance. She bit her lip against the sudden surge of panic that was clenching her heart in an iron fist. _He will return. He will be fine._ With that in mind, she continued to run until the milky fog was all around her, trapping her in its pearly cloak.

In her immediate line of sight, there seemed to be an intense battle raging. A figure too short to be Legolas, with dark brown hair and eyes was locked in combat with a much larger figure on one of the nearby cliffs. She recognized him instantly.

“Kili.” It was a whisper.

She smelled the Orcs before she saw them. Their repulsive scent mixed with that of… _Goblins._ Her knives were out instantly, her eyes raking the landscape. Before she could think, she pulled a knife out of something behind her. Black blood splashed onto her boots.

Tauriel broke into a run, attempting once more to shove down a growing feeling of panic. Her bow broken, she could only run from her pursuers. _Running._ It was something she despised, yet something she had been doing so much of in the course of this battle.

Once grey stonewalls enclosed her and she was surrounded, the real fight began. She turned to meet her enemies, making quick work of the two Orcs that had been behind her. Her knife flashed through the air, through throats, through skulls, through anything she could manage to stab. Her hair floated around her face, suspended in the air as she made a clean cut across yet another Orc’s neck. A sharp clang of metal on metal snapped her out of her reverie. She kicked a body out of the way, jogging out to meet the cool air.

“ _Kili_!” The sound tore out of her throat, heavy with desperation, with fear.

He did not answer her. Panic gnawed at her stomach like a parasite; she suddenly felt very ill. Instinctively, her wrist moved; she tore her hilt out of something’s stomach before searching the air, listening for the sound of a sword once more.

“ _KILI!_ ”

“Tauriel!”

She could breathe at last. “Kili.”

And then—pain. Blinding, white-hot pain coursed through her torso. Despite herself, she let out a groan. Through a red haze, a thought made itself clear: _Something is there. Something snuck up behind me._

Disoriented, she turned, trying to make a jab, a cut, _anything_. But whatever was behind her was too fast, and she felt her arm being twisted out of its socket. She screamed, struggling to free herself from the grip of… _Bolg._ She remembered Legolas telling her whom he had encountered in Lake Town, and there could be no doubt that the Orc standing in front of her was he.

This thought came before his arm descended, and she could do nothing to stop it. For a moment, the stars flashed in front of her, the world tilting on its axis. Then, rising from the spots dancing in front of her eyes, came Bolg himself. She was very aware of his hand around her throat, cutting off any air supply. Her legs dangled helplessly under her.

 _Helpless,_ she thought. _Is that what I am?_

_Is this the end?_

* * *

 

 

Legolas turned his attention forward, allowing himself to relax his muscles as the bat flew through the fog. Icy cold air whipped his face, tangling his hair, stinging his hands. His eyes darted back and forth, taking in his surroundings.

Beneath him, a barren landscape covered in white ice. Above him, fog and undistinguishable shapes flitting through the clouds. Directly ahead, a tower of stone—possibly an abandoned watchtower—stood. _There._

For a moment, just a moment, he thought he may have heard a shout on the wind—a cry perhaps, one of immense pain. Immediately, an alarming amount of fear sparked within him, clouding his vision, laboring his breathing. But just as soon as the cry was heard, it was gone. _Was I imagining it?_

Whether or not the scream was real became irrelevant; the tower was coming closer and closer. Legolas thought quickly, pulling his bow and an arrow from his back with practiced speed, nocking it in a matter of seconds. The bat squealed as he killed it, and he dropped to the tower without stumbling. The world turned the right way again.

All other things disappeared. His targets fell, one by one, shot before they had time to look for where the arrows were coming from. He shot without feeling, without emotion. As the Orcs fell, they revealed Thorin Oakenshield—their apparent target.

Yet in the back of his mind, the cry of pain remained.

 

 

* * *

 

_I will not die like this._

Tauriel heard her scream of frustration from far away. Her knee slammed into Bolg’s stomach; he stumbled away from her as she reached for her knives. But he had already recovered. The Orc grabbed her wrist, yanking her body forward.

And she was weightless. White spots decorated her vision, and she was faintly aware of the screaming pain in her back. The side of her face felt wet. Her sight cloudy, she could barely see Bolg as he walked towards her, his mace ready in hand. A moan escaped her sore lips.

“AAAGH!”

 _Kili?_ The dwarf had thrown himself from the stairs above, launched himself onto Bolg’s back and had locked his arms around the Orc’s neck. He was overpowered easily. Forcing herself to stand, to help him, she attempted to employ the same strategy.

The Orc threw her from his back easily, sending her tumbling towards the edge of the cliff. Every inch of her body protested as she endeavored to rise again. The white film in front of her vision had turned black. Yet somehow she could see the dwarf whom she loved and the Orc whom she despised very clearly. She could see the mace the color of eventide positioned over Kili’s heart perfectly.

Any pain Bolg had inflicted upon her could not have prepared her. Any pain could not be compared to the sensation in her chest as the tip of his blade pierced Kili’s chest. Nothing could have prepared her.

 

* * *

 

Legolas pulled another arrow from his quiver. Despite his assistance, it still seemed as though Thorin Oakenshield would be overpowered—

His eyes widened. This time, the cry of pain could not have been his imagination. Even more terrifying still, it sounded familiar. It sounded exactly like… _Tauriel_.

His eyes locked on her tumbling form, widening even more as she fell to the top of another watchtower with a moan of pain. Legolas could count on his fingers how many times he had seen Tauriel show any signs of injury. His chest felt as if it was on fire.

Then, like a nightmare from the depths of the fog, Bolg climbed the steps of stone, his eyes resting on his prey. Legolas reached behind him, his fingers reaching for and expecting another arrow—

But there were no more arrows. Twisting around in surprise and panic, Legolas beheld his empty quiver before throwing his bow to the ground beneath him. Drawing the sword he had taken from Thorin, he searched wildly for a way to get to her, to save her. He settled on a troll that had been trying to knock down the watchtower on which he stood.

Legolas leapt from the tower, sticking his sword directly into the head of the beast, using it as a means of control. He helped to finish its goal; the falling tower provided a distraction for Bolg, and when their gazes met, the world fell silent.

His gaze landed on Tauriel’s still figure, if only to see that she had not fallen farther from the cliff. Anger replaced his fear, boiling within his chest, threatening to burst forth in the form of recklessness. But he could not afford to act on such feelings…not again. Tauriel’s very life depended on strategy, on precision. His blade met Bolg’s with earth-shattering force.

The ground beneath them trembled, but he held his ground. Again and again he parried the blows from his opponent, never once lapsing in his concentration. This continued until Bolg shattered the bricks under them. Legolas dropped to the next layer of stone, unprepared for the Orc’s next blow: his mace, slamming against his chest. He yelled in pain as his back slammed against the bricks, recovering just quickly enough to deflect the next blow.

They fought roughly as they had in Lake Town, although Legolas was ready for his opponent’s next move each time. So when he caught the prince’s blade under his arm and held it there, grinning like a jackal, Legolas knew what to do. He pulled himself onto Bolg’s back, before sticking his blade into his grotesque head. The satisfaction he felt upon reaching the adjacent cliff of safety was equaled by something else, something far more powerful.

“Tauriel!” A scream tore itself out of his throat.

When he reached her body, he paled considerably. Knelt by her side, his hands trembling. His eyes landed on her bloody temple, his fingers pushing away the flaming hair around her face. He pulled her broken body into his lap with care, as if she would crumble from his touch.

“Tauriel. Open your eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you for reading, and for getting this far! We only have ONE chapter left in this series (before an Epilogue)! I thought it would be fun if I did a little Q & A, to attach to the Author's Note at the end of the fanfiction. For those of you interested, here are the steps for entering (I'll be attaching this to Chapter 15 in the future as well):  
> 1\. Leave a comment with your question. It can be about this fanfiction (characters, plotlines, headcannons) or other writing (future plans, etc.) ^.^  
>  \- ^^just examples  
> 2\. I will be taking the first 20 questions or so to answer in depth in my Author's Note at the end. If we have more than that, then I'll just answer them briefly in the comment section.   
> 3\. Here's an example: "Why did you create the character of Dalyor?"  
>  \- I would answer that question in my Author's Note, in depth  
>  \- They can be funny too! Be creative :)  
> 4\. If I can't answer your question for some reason, I'll let you know in the comments ^.^  
> I love hearing from all of you, and this could be an awesome way to connect with my readers! I'm so excited for this, and I hope you'll participate! Thank you so much, as always, for reading! Be sure to comment and vote if you enjoyed ^_^


	15. 15: Why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I hope you enjoy Chapter 15, and be sure to take a look at the Author's Note at the end of this chapter! ^.^

**Chapter 15**

 

_Why am I alive?_

Tauriel knelt before the dwarf that she loved. Her heart ached in her chest; her breath rattled in her throat. The pain on the side of her head, where Bolg had attacked her, was nothing next to the agony she felt gazing at Kili. His eyes had been open when they had come to him, and she closed them now with shaking fingers. He looked so peaceful, she thought, almost as if he was sleeping.

Beside them, Legolas stood in a strong and silent vigil. It was he who had stopped the Orc Bolg. It was he who had helped her limp to this place, to say her final goodbyes. It was he who had knelt beside her broken body and whispered life into her ear:

“Tauriel, open your eyes.”

She wondered why he had done it. Risked his life almost blindly, before waking her from what would have been an eternal sleep. Why did he care so much? Why couldn’t he have left her be and saved her this agony? In any case, she had no desire to discuss it with him now. She did not want to speak to anyone.

The pain was increasing now. Black spots began to dance across her vision. Almost in a daze, Tauriel felt herself reach into her pocket, pulling from it the rune stone from the dungeon. The cerulean stone felt dazzlingly cool in her feverish hands. Their conversation in the dungeon seemed so long ago now, as she looked at it. The stone had represented longevity, even in change. It had been a promise, etched into her soul, one she could never forget. _My mother gave it to me so that I would remember my promise...that I would come back to her._

A single tear fell onto Kili’s tunic. Tauriel took his hand in hers, as he had at the lake. Pressed the stone into his gloved palm, kissing his knuckles as she cradled the lifeless thing to her chest. _You broke your promise, my love. You broke your promise._

From the corner of her eye, she saw Legolas walk away.

_Why must I live, now that he is dead?_

 

* * *

 

 

_Panic made his hands tremble as he took her limp body in his lap. He brushed away strands of hair from her forehead—hair that he had always thought beautiful, the color of burnished copper. She did not seem alive, right there in his arms, even if he wanted nothing more than to see her enchanting green eyes open again. Perhaps it was that which inspired his next words, a mere whisper in the icy wind:_

_“Tauriel, open your eyes.”_

_Nothing could describe the feeling that Legolas experienced when his eyes met hers. Was it relief, for he thought he would never see her again? Was it anger, as he could not believe that she had charged blindly into battle with Azog’s son? Or was it sadness, for there was much that she did not know yet?_

_“Kili.”_

_Her first word after waking from a brush with death: Kili. It would have stabbed him with a thousand knives, as her love for the dwarf had many times in the past, but it only saddened him. His eyes met hers, and he shook his head._

_Tauriel’s eyes widened as she registered what he was saying. She sat up straight, pushing away his outstretched hand, brushing away his sympathy. This was different than Eyela, Legolas knew, so he pursed his lips and remained silent._

_That is, until she attempted to get up, and stumbled, her legs folding beneath her. He caught her quickly, and before she could protest, he raised a hand._

_“Let me help you.”_

_“You do not need to—“_

_“Let me help you.” His voice was firm and unyielding. It was a quality that he had inherited from his father, and she knew better than to argue. She allowed him to lift her into his arms and carry her to the place where it had happened._

_Legolas bit his lip as he saw the blood streaks on the grey stone. It was with a heavy heart that he set her down, gently; next to the lifeless body of the one she loved. She had to grieve, this much was certain. And because he could not leave her in such distress, he stayed._

Several moments later, however, the pain in _his_ heart was too much. He turned on his heel, leaving briskly and silently. He had known that she would have to say goodbye, as he had never gotten a chance to do for Eyela. He knew that her heart was breaking as his was, and that as an elf who had experienced such pain, he should know what to do or say. And yet, when he had seen her there, kissing Kili’s gloved hand, all words of supposed comfort had escaped him.

Legolas had difficulty remembering a time when he had been emotional. He liked to think that he was sensitive to other’s feelings and that in his heart he felt what they were feeling. But after Anona’s accident, all ways to express how he was feeling at a certain time had left him. It was this thought process that he would later blame for not saying anything to help or comfort Tauriel in her pain.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was leaving not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he felt like he was suffocating. So much had happened since that day outside the forest, when she had come to find him and comfort him, when he had told of his past. Legolas had learned that he was naïve and unassuming, that he did not know war or combat. He had learned that he had much travelling to do.

Vaguely, he heard a voice inside his head tell him to stay, if only for Tauriel. He shoved it down.

_Why should I stay, when I know that our future together is black? When I know that I have another purpose?_

* * *

 

 

The world was silent.

Thranduil searched frantically for his son, knowing in his heart that he might find a lifeless body rather than the warrior he once knew. He kicked aside an Orc’s body in disgust.

“Legolas?” It was a whisper, rather than the call he had hoped. He did not have the strength to say it again.

The Elven King had rallied his forces after his confrontation with his son and Tauriel. Looking at them—or rather, looking at Legolas who was so in love—inspired something sentimental within his cold heart. Legolas had so much of his mother in him; perhaps it all came out at once in that moment. He had done exactly as Anona would have. Part of him wondered what had happened to Tauriel, but a bigger portion of his worry and wonder went to his son, who had risked everything for her.

_Is he alive? Eru, I will never be able to forgive myself…_

The string of uncertainties stopped abruptly in his head. Legolas entered from one of the many cliffs within Ravenhill. There lifted from Thranduil’s heart a heavy burden. He felt the tensions in his shoulders disappear. _He’s alive, thank Eru…_

There had been a point, after Anona and Kelda had been captured, that Legolas looked dead inside. He had wandered about the palace with no purpose to his pacing. He had not eaten or slept, instead occupying the cold, desolated watchtower with his worries and pain. When his son came from the cliff side, his expression betraying his inner emotions, Thranduil was reminded of this point in their lives.

“I…” his son seemed to be collecting his composure. “I cannot go back.”

Something inside of him had seen it coming. He could not linger in the Woodland Realm forever…and yet, the Elven King felt as though an iron fist had closed around his heart. _Is this because of Tauriel?_

“Where will you go?” He asked instead of the thousand questions swirling inside his head.

Legolas had already walked past him, and stopped in the frame of a stone arch. “I do not know.”

“Go North. Find the Dúnedain,” he heard himself say. “There’s a young ranger amongst them, you should meet him. His father Arathorn was a good man. His son…” he trailed off.

Thranduil had lost his father a moon after he and Anona had married. Many moons after that, they were graced with Legolas, their little leaf. Throughout the turmoil of his wife and only daughter being captured and the death of many inside his realm, there had been only one elf in his company: Legolas. His son had filled the hole in his heart, and at times when he thought there was nothing left, he had Legolas to remind him what love was. His precious son and heir had taught him the meaning of family. He was all that Thranduil had left.

“His son might grow to be a great one,” he finished, swallowing his emotions before they spilled from his eyes.

Legolas read him easily. He had always been able to read Thranduil and Anona, and know what they were thinking before it was ever spoken. “What is his name?”

“In the wild, he is known as Strider. His true name,” he felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips, “you must discover for yourself.”

It was more rewarding than any war victory when Legolas almost smiled as well. Thranduil watch his son walk away, and suddenly, he felt panic blossom like an ugly flower in his chest:

“Legolas!”

The prince only paused; he did not turn.

“What…what about your mother? And your sister?”

Legolas stiffened. He turned then, with tears sparkling in his eyes. “Tell them I love them. Kelda can have my chambers at the top of the palace, like she’s always wanted. Mother…” he broke off, unable to go on.

“Your mother loves you,” Thranduil said gently. “More than anyone. More than life.”

They looked at each other, hugging in what was the Elvish way. Then he was gone, and the conversation felt as if it had not occurred at all.

A single tear fell from the Elven King’s eyes.

 

He continued, towards Tauriel, towards the elleth he knew was grieving. In his heart, Thranduil did not blame Tauriel for Legolas’s departure, for he knew that it would have happened even if his son was not heartbroken. Legolas would not have been shut into his realm, Tauriel or not.

Tauriel’s copper hair was brighter than ever against the stark icy landscape. Her red-rimmed eyes met his as he approached the body of the fallen dwarf. She was clutching his hand tightly, as if her very life was anchored to him. For a moment, she said nothing.

Then, “they want to bury him.”

Thranduil had never been able to bury his mother and father. They had died in battles not under his control. Eru knew that if Anona had not been returned to him, he would not have gotten to bury her either.

He did not know what to say. “Yes.”

“If this is love, I do not want it,” Tauriel wept, her eyes begging with him. “Take it from me. _Please_.”

He did not know what to say.

Tears streamed down her pale, blood-streaked cheeks. “Why does it hurt _so much_?”

“Because it was real.”

 

* * *

 

Tauriel saddled up one of the mares, nervously fiddling with her caramel-colored mane. The horse whinnied and she quickly detangled her fingers.

The camp was a mess. After paying their final respects to Thorin, Fili, and Kili, the elves had begun to move out. The first party had left this morning, leaving Tauriel and King Thranduil to attend the funeral and come afterwards.

The Elven King had invited her back into the Woodland Realm. He had approached her after she had spoken to Balin and Nori, and had asked her if she wished to come back.

“You may not keep your post as Captain of the Guard, but if you wish, your home is still open to you,” he had said.

She wondered what had changed his mind. Something inside of her did not feel quite right about this sudden change in his demeanor—or had he forgotten that she disrespected him and he halved her bow? The Woodland Realm would always be her home, but… _what’s missing here?_

“Tauriel.”

She whipped around to face Thranduil. Perhaps she had imagined the change in demeanor; his cold, calculating stare never left her face as he walked towards her from inside the mountain. “We leave at dusk.”

Suddenly, looking at him, she realized what was missing. Through all her experiences with the King, there had always been another elf on her mind. There had always been another elf at his side, ruling beside him with the same stony expression, but a gentler heart. Panic speared through her heart like an arrow.

“Where is Legolas?”  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've missed you guys! I am so, so unbelievably sorry that this chapter is so late and that I've been gone from Ao3. I'm trying to make up replying to all your wonderful comments (because I like to respond and to hear from you guys) and am trying to get back into the swing of writing. This chapter was extremely difficult to write, and took a really, really long time so I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> As you know, this is the final chapter in Her Starlit Path before the Epilogue (which is being written right now, hehehe). I'm so grateful to all of you for sticking with me this far, and being super patient while I wrote these final few chapters. So a huge THANK YOU to all!!! <3 <3 <3
> 
> Finally, I would like to mention that the Q&A is still open, for those of you who would like to ask questions. The details for that are in Chapter 14 :) 
> 
> Again, thank you so much, and I will be back with the Epilogue! ^_^


	16. Epilogue: Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the Author's Note and Q&A tomorrow, but first, enjoy this final chapter of Legolas and Tauriel's story :')

**Epilogue**

 

Tauriel gave herself to grief and darkness.

She barred the doors to her chambers, slept, woke weeping, and slept again. Servants would bring her platters of food, for which she had no appetite and therefore did not eat. The dishes piled up outside her door. She did not get up, even when Dalyor pounded on the door and called her name a thousand times.

A moon after Kili’s death and Legolas’s departure for the North, still lying in bed, weak from starvation and weak from her tears, she finally nibbled on a sweet cake. Afterwards, she sat in the tub and scrubbed at her body with a hard bar of lavender soap, washed the dirt and grime out of her hair and brushed it until it felt like copper silk in her hands. She dressed in a simple gown of blue with white flowers, fled to the gardens, and sat on a porcelain bench, staring at the sky.

The Greenwood of Old was slowly returning. The lush trees were full of songbirds. They sang in the trees from dawn until dusk, feeding on the ripe fruits that now hung from every treetop. Bushes were fat and colorful with plump berries. It was said that the palace kitchen never slept, as they were so busy making summer wines, baking fresh breads, tarts and cakes, and tossing the harvested fruits in every salad. Young elves went riding without fear, laughing and teasing. Mothers and their children played under the waterfalls, picking berries and fruits straight from the trees and shrubbery as they danced.

With every elf in the kingdom busy, there was no one to bother or question Tauriel as she slipped in and out of her room. Whilst in her room, she would call for servants to bring her food before sleeping. Whilst out of it, she would sit on the benches of the Queen’s Gardens, watching the others laugh and smile, emotions that seemed so far gone to the young elleth.  She had no desire to shoot a bow, or to ride a horse. Life mattered less and less to her as time went on.

This day, she had come to the gardens at nightfall, to watch the stars. They seemed to dance in the night like a thousand glittering diamonds, bright even against the final lilac and grey tones of the setting sun.

“Good evening.”

The voice startled her out of her reverie. King Thranduil stood behind her, his face ever the unreadable mask. She had not heard him approach.

“I do not know if I’ve ever seen you wear a gown, Tauriel,” he said.

She had dressed in lilac and gold silks for the night. They had been a gift from the Queen Anona upon her return to the Realm. “I do not wear anything else these days, my King,” she said, her voice expressionless.

He observed her quietly for a moment before speaking again. “I know Legolas came to see you, before he departed for Rivendell. I know you turned him away.”

Tauriel remembered. “I did, my lord.”

“Why is that?”

She raised her eyes, defiant, but his gaze was far away, turned towards the sky. “I did not want to see him.” Then, to soften the blow, “I did not want to see any elf.”

“And why is that?” His tone was neutral, caring even.

 _How dare he?_ Her heart hardened to his concern, to his questions. If he had cared about her at all, he would have asked her this moons ago, when she had first descended into a pit of her despair. Tauriel turned away from him, silent.

“Do you know why I did what I did, Tauriel? To you, and to my son?”

For a moment, she forgot her anger. “What?”

“When I told you that Legolas would never marry you, despite his obvious feelings for you…” he trailed off.

“Of course I remember,” Tauriel snapped, her eyes green fire in the white light. “Because he was to marry Eyela, who had loved him since she was an elfling.”

“He was, and I was to keep my word with Elrond. Although you may not believe it, I would not cause you to fear me in that way for honor, or for a promise. Do you know why I really did it?” When she did not answer, he changed the subject. “Do you know why Legolas rode to Rivendell?”

“No.”

“He is the representative of the Woodland Realm on the Council of Elrond. He wrote to me just days ago, saying that the decision has been made to take the ring of Sauron to Mordor in a company of nine.” He paused. “He says he is to join them.”

“I see.” Tauriel fought against the panic that suddenly rose in her chest. Her hands shook; she curled them into tight fists. A long silence passed, and yet she could not think of anything else to say to comfort the King, who may have been losing his son…because of her.

Thranduil broke the silence. “Kili—“

“Kili is dead,” she said quickly, though she was surprised that he even knew the dwarf’s name.

“Yes, he is. And yet it is as if he is not.”

“I—“ she had to stop herself, as her voice was shaky and weak. “I do not know what you mean,” she said, after taking several deep breaths.

His icy eyes seemed to stare right through her. “My father was murdered by my side in battle, my mother murdered at my betrothal ceremony.” Though his voice carried no emotion—as it had always been with King Thranduil—there seemed to be a deeper feeling embedded in his words. Tauriel thought of Legolas, that night at the edge of the forest. _There was a time when the King was not so cold._

“My love was taken from me on a trip to Rivendell, along with my only daughter. She was returned to me in pieces with my poisoned daughter in her arms. You think I do not know grief, Tauriel?” He laughed bitterly and she flinched. “Most of my life I have spent grieving for the ones I loved. The ones who I see in every sunrise and in every flower, the ones who were taken from me while I could do nothing to stop it.”

“My lord—“

“Kili is dead,” he said, and finally, she met his gaze. His eyes, to her surprise, were utterly kind, and in that moment, she saw Legolas in him. “You watched him die, you watched them bury his body. And yet in your heart, he lives on.”

“Yes.” Despite herself, her eyes filled with tears. “Yes.”

“I know why you locked my son out of your heart,” he said softly. “You believe that he left you.”

She dashed away her tears with one hand. “He did leave me. He left me when I needed him most.” Her voice was quavering and petulant, but she was past caring—she was too tired to care.

“This point brings me back to my former question. Why did I tell you to stay away from my son?”

Tauriel’s head was spinning. She stared at her hands that were clasped in her lap and said nothing. And yet, somewhere in the depths of her stone-cold heart, she knew the answer he was seeking.

The silence stretched for so long, she assumed he had left. It was only when he spoke again, that she knew that he persisted. “Legolas was all I had left, Tauriel. After my wife and daughter were taken without a trace— without a single sign to indicate to me that they would return—he was all I had. He was everything to me, and if I could have in any way prevented him from making the mistakes I was making…” he trailed off.

Her hands clenched into fists. “You expect me to believe that you turned me away from your son because of love?”

“I do, in the same way that you expect me to believe that you turned him from your door because of love.”

“Love is a mistake.” She glared at her feet. “You were right to protect him.”

“I could not protect him from himself, Tauriel. No one can.”

Finally, she looked at him again, really taking him in, for everything cold and cruel that he was, for the king that he wanted Legolas to be. And she saw his heartbreak.

The corners of his mouth quirked slightly. “You loved Kili because you were lonely. You loved him because he cared when no elf could, when the only one you thought you could trust turned away. But what is love, Tauriel?”

Tauriel let out a sob. She could still see Legolas with the sun hitting the side of his handsome face, the day he had told her that Lady Eyela was to be his betrothed. She saw their kiss on the rooftop in Lake Town. She remembered Eyela’s cruel words to her, and Legolas confronting her about Kili.

Then she saw him stepping in front of her to defend her against his father’s rage, his eyes filled with cold blue fire. She saw him waiting for her after she had healed Kili on the shores of the lake, his gaze blank and emotionless. She saw him holding her in his arms, after he defeated the enemy that had wounded her. She saw him risk everything he held dear to save her, to protect her, to stay by her side.

_How could I not have seen his sacrifice until now? How? He helped me and stayed by me and loved me even when I had eyes for another…for Kili…_

Had she loved him? She had blocked out his memory for so many months that finally, she closed her eyes and let herself see; see his tan skin, his stubbly chin, his deep, trusting brown eyes, his dark hair; see his love for her, bright as the stars they both loved so much. He had seen her sorrow and had healed it with a gentle hand. _But…he was my friend, all this time. I loved him as a friend, admired him as a warrior, and wished his survival more than anything else._

The tears streamed down her cheeks, her response remaining unspoken.

“Your heart never belonged to the dwarf,” he said, and she knew it was true.

He was striding away, towards the palace gates, and had turned to look at her once more. “What would Kili have wanted for you?”

 

* * *

 

The stars were beautiful in Gondor.

They reminded him of her, as they always had and always would. They reminded him of all the nights that he had stared at the sky, while the others slept. They reminded him of how much he had grown since that day at Ravenhill. _I cannot go back._

Legolas was deep in reminiscence this night, even with the sounds of the feast in the background. He imagined that Merry and Pippin were causing some kind of trouble, with Gimli berating them. He could hear his friend’s voice above the others, loud and harsh. He knew that Aragorn and Arwen were dancing, her head resting on his strong shoulder, his hands entangled in her hair. Gandalf would be smoking, no doubt, chatting with Frodo and Sam. The members of the Fellowship—save Boromir—had returned, having completed their quest. Yet laughter and good company seemed so far from him, almost as if he had left them behind.

“Legolas.”

He whipped around; Aragorn stood against a backdrop of luminescence and light, his silver tunic glowing. He joined him at the railing, leaning over the veranda. “Gimli was asking after you. He wanted to have another drinking game.”

Legolas almost smiled. “And you told him no?”

“I told him that you are deep in thought. It seems that I was right.” He could feel Aragorn’s gaze on him. “What troubles you, my friend?”

“I should not have left her.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the whispering of the wind. Finally, Aragorn responded, his voice soft and gentle. “Perhaps.”

“Even if I was angry and afraid,” Legolas insisted, “I should not have left her to piece her heart back together.”

“And what of your heart, Legolas?”

He turned to his friend in surprise. Aragorn was smiling, his eyes bright in the starlight. “Arwen told me everything.”

“I should have guessed.” He turned back to the night bitterly. “I was a fool, and she knows it better than most. I thought that I could be something that I could not, and her cousin paid dearly for it.”

“She does not blame you for Eyela’s death. But she does blame you for remaining here when you could be riding to your home.”

“What?” Legolas looked at him in surprise. “But—“

“They say the Greenwood of Old has returned. They say that your father desperately waits for your return.”

Legolas remembered the day he _had_ returned, all those moons ago. He remembered her screaming for him to get out, to go away. He remembered his mother weeping as he rode away for the second time, vowing to never return.

“Legolas.” Aragorn put his hand on his shoulder. “You cannot run from love. Surely all of this has taught you that.”

“Aragorn—“

“And if she needed you before, it was because she trusted no one else to ease her pain.”

Legolas looked at him for a long moment before speaking. “If that is true, then that need has not abated.” _She needs me. My father and mother and sister need me._

He had made his decision.

 

* * *

 

 

_A battle was raging around her. Screams of the dying filled her ears, along with the clanging of swords and battle-axes. The soft earth squelched beneath her as she walked, the fronds of grass tangling in her leggings for a moment before pulling free._

_Tauriel ran, without aim and without purpose. She ran past Orcs, past Men on horses, past Men whose lives had ended too soon. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was searching for something. The air around her thickened with each step she took, suffocating her._

_Suddenly, a body fell in front of her. His hair covered his face, pale and fine, silver-blonde. Blood pooled beneath his tunic. As Tauriel knelt before him, a clasp fell from his cloak, a green leaf. Panic rose within her, a dark, fearful tide threatening to overwhelm her senses. She turned the body over, brushing his hair from his face, knowing who she would see before she even caught a glimpse of his face._

_Legolas’s eyes were wide-open, almost milky white in the light of the sun. She heard herself scream, and his gaze found her at last._

_“Tauriel…”_

_“Legolas,” she said, barely aware of the tears coursing down her cheeks. “No, no…” she fumbled with his torn tunic, her fingers slippery with blood._

_“You cannot save me,” he murmured, dark lashes fluttering against impossibly pale cheeks. She felt his hand on hers. “It is far too late for that.” He coughed._

_Then he was gone, and she was running again, her feet slapping the ground, the same panic and despair heavy in her chest. As she turned a corner, her mind processed her surroundings: the Woodland Realm. The columns and hangings lights were far too familiar to her._

_Tauriel knew not what she was running from, nor where she was going. A voice seemed to echo around her, filling the chambers with haunting whispers. It was Legolas who was speaking, she realized._

_“Eyela is dead.”_

_“She died from a broken heart.”_

_“…from a broken heart.”_

_The paintings on the walls seemed to laugh as she ran past, their eyes boring into her, their voices joining Legolas’s as she turned another corner. The pain in her chest worsened._

_“…a broken heart.”_

_“…broken…”_

_Her legs stopped moving. The first thing she saw was a bed, the headboard intricately carved, and the sheets pale as cream. The elf inside it was still, his flaxen hair draped over his pillow, his hand crossed over his chest. She did not have to look at him to know who he was._

_The voices changed, their pitch higher, their tone more desperate. Tauriel could not take her eyes off of the form in the bed._

_“Legolas is dead.”_

_It was Thranduil’s voice this time, his tone menacing and hostile. She whipped around to see him tower over her, his eyes like blue fire. She took a step back._

_“Legolas is dead.” He said it again, and she fell to her knees. The pain in her chest was excruciating. Tears blurred her vision._

_“He died of a broken heart.” The voices began to chant. Tauriel covered her ears._

_“…of a broken heart.”_

_“…a broken…”_

_Thranduil alone said the next words. “He died because of you.”_

Tauriel woke screaming, her legs tangled in her sheets, her heart hammering in her chest. She turned sharply to the sound of knocking on her door.

“Tauriel!” It was Dalyor.

“Yes?” Her voice was shaking uncontrollably.

“There is news from Gondor. About Prince Legolas…”

 _Real news?_ There had not been real news of the war’s happenings for many moons. Tauriel shot arrows in the archery field and went on rides near the border, but it was difficult to pretend that it did not affect her. Each moon she would ask Dalyor for news, and each month he would shake his head. Thranduil was even colder than usual with the absence of his son. He had not spoken to Tauriel since that night in the Queen’s Gardens.

She took several deep breaths to calm herself. Her hands clenched into tight fists around the sheets. “What news?”

“He is coming home. The prince is coming home!”

The shaking stopped abruptly. It took all she had to calmly say, “Thank you, Dalyor.”

As soon as she had made sure that he had gone, Tauriel began to laugh for the first time in months. She laughed and laughed and laughed, until tears streamed down her cheeks. Then she cried, hugging herself around the waist, her sobs racking her body. Then she lay against the headboard, a smile etched upon her lips.

* * *

 

Legolas rode through Greenwood the Great in wonder.

He remembered black trees and multi-colored moss, a grey, muddy stream, and rotting tiles from an old pathway. What he saw was lush trees that touched the sky, with healthy dark brown trunks and brightly colored flowers. Somewhere in the forest, he could hear the rushing sounds of the river.

The healthy forest reminded him of a time when he and his mother had been dancing beneath waterfalls.

“I love my home, _Nana_ ,” he had said as she splashed his face with cool water.

She had suddenly grown silent. “No, child. You do not know your home yet. But you will, my little leaf. You will.”

He had not understood then. Now he understood the fabled tales of the beauty of the Woodland Realm. Absentmindedly, he reached out to stroke a tree trunk.

The palace stood as regal and strong as it had for all of the years that he had been alive. But he knew that it was stronger now, with the end of the war and the return of Greenwood. The mare whickered as he slid from her back.

The deep blue gates opened with a groan. From where he was stroking his horse, Legolas glanced up suddenly—only to be met by a crushing embrace.

He would have known her face anywhere, and yet it was like he was seeing her for the first time. Everything about her was new and beautiful to him: her striking auburn hair, kissed by flames; her eyes, like a forest in the sunlight; the gentleness of her hands and the soft curve of her lips. But there were lines that hadn’t been there— around her mouth and eyes and on her forehead—signs of wisdom and pain that Legolas had not been there to experience with her.

She seemed to drink him in, in his dusty traveler’s cloak and faded tunic. Her fingers brushed his cheeks, as though she was testing whether or not he was real or alive. _Let me show you how alive I am, my love._

The kiss was passionate and sorrowful and desperate. When they pulled apart, he was breathless. His thumb brushed away the tears on her cheeks, tracing down to her jawbone, cradling her neck. He rested his forehead on hers. He could feel a grin spreading across his face.

Her musical laugh echoed through the forest. For a moment, they were simply laughing, laughing at the freedom of it all. He was crying soon enough, crying in her arms, his head on her shoulder. She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. It was then that Legolas realized they had not spoken.

He asked her to be his wife. She agreed.

_We have lived our entire lives in the darkness of night, staring at the sky, waiting for the stars to come out and show us the way._

_Dawn has come at last._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know your thoughts in the comments, and remember to leave Kudos if you enjoy :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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